


Eleven Days

by friends_call_me_wobbly_hands



Series: Out Of Time [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Narrator, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I mean, Incest Mention, Injury, Minor Character Death, NarraChara, Suicide mention, Swearing, Underfell, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, a train of feels upcoming, also a bunch of theories and headcanons at work, also fun fact, also thats not the common version of underfell, and a common way to call a person if you don’t know their gender for sure, and possibly self-projecting, angsty teen Papyrus, bad brother au, but not really, but that's chara for you, cheesy fishes, cheesy skeletons, darker themes, everyone is a bad brother, everyone is an edgelord, i-don’t-even-know-who-let-them-narrate narrator, it’s all fun isn’t it, kind of a redemption ark for everyone included, like i said the narrator is really unreliable, monsters can be murderers but they don’t want to misgender people, more like my take on it, neutral pronouns are A Thing, now oficially, pre-Flowey events, pre-human events, self help, sex mention, slight body horror, suicide ideation, surely we all like to see someone we love suffering and crying, that would be really rude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:38:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands/pseuds/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands
Summary: …On the first day, everything rockets down.Papyrus doesn’t understand at once. How can he? The morning starts pretty normal. But then it just rockets down, and, clearly, when you see an avalanche incoming, there are only three ways for you to behave. You can try to run. You can try to close your eyes and tell yourself that it’s all just a dream. Or you can face the avalanche like a Viking before his rightful Valhalla, with a ski pole in the hand, screaming: "FIGHT ME!!!"...it doesn’t really matter, of course. But sometimes the ends are much less significant than the means.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> O-kay. So, after a year of writing, rewriting and polishing that thing, I am finally posting it. Yeah. Hooraaaay.  
> Mostly it's all written already, so hopefully the chapters will be posted every week or so. Let's see if anyone gets interested in that ride. hehe.
> 
>  
> 
> Also here is the epigraph.
> 
> “Of course man is mortal, but that’s only half the problem. The trouble is that sometimes mortality comes to him so suddenly, that’s where the trick is!” - Woland, “Master and Margaret” (M. Bulgakov)

…On the first day, everything rockets down.

Papyrus doesn’t understand at once. How can he? The morning starts just normal. He wakes up at 5:25 and marches down the stairs in the silence of a still-sleeping neighborhood. He attaches the pieces of red and black armor where they belong. After every grim plate and every dangerous spike is placed properly, Papyrus looks at the clock. It is 5:35. High time his subordinate woke up too.

Papyrus opens his jaws like an attacking shark.

“SANS, GET UP THIS INSTANT OR SOMEONE’S IN THIS HOUSE IS GOING TO GET DUSTED, AND I HIGHLY DOUBT THAT IT’D BE ME!!!”

He listens to the fading echo of his voice. Houses all around blossom with lights and noises: the call served as an alarm clock for everyone on the street again.

Papyrus grins.

He turns the lights on too and fumbles with a packet of takeaways from Grillby’s. Not that he likes the taste, but it’s Wednesday, and every Wednesday before he does the shopping the house is about as rich in food as a church mouse’s fridge, so that is the only edible - or almost so - thing left for breakfast. And Sans will be quite angry to see his greasy cache robbed. Which is fun. Maybe he will even go as far as changing his expression for once. Just to think of it, all those grimaces he will make while watching his fries disappear in front of him...

Speaking of Sans.

“SANS, I ABSOLUTELY REQUIRE YOU TO APPEAR DOWNSTAIRS TEN SECONDS AFTER A COMMAND, AND YOU HAVE ALREADY EXCEEDED THIS LIMIT BY A WHOLE MINUTE! I DO NOT CARE WHAT KEEPS YOU _THAT_ PREOCCUPIED THERE, BUT IT IS IN YOUR INTEREST TO COME OUT RIGHT AWAY! DON’T MAKE ME PULL YOU ALL THE WAY TO YOUR STATION BY THE SCRUFF OF YOUR NECK AGAIN!”

The guard sighs, rubbing his throat. Any other day Sans would stumble out of his door immediately, huffing from the shock of a sudden awakening. But today… Is it possible that he is still sleeping? Not really. The smaller skeleton is quite a light-sleeper, stirred up by a slightest sound or movement. And even if he wasn’t, well. Such screams would awaken the dead with ease.

“I SWEAR, SANS!!! YOU ARE TRYING MY PATIENCE! AND I WILL NEVER FORGET ANYTHING AS DARING AS THIS, I PROMISE!!!"

No answer.

Could it be sickness? But Sans would have come anyway. Sick or not, the rules are not something you can break so simply. Could it be defiance? …That _is_ an option, but Sans should’ve learned by now that defiance is treated accordingly, especially if it is as stupid as this is.

Is it possible that Sans has already got up and went to his sentry station all by himself?.. No. Anything but that.

Three, two, one.

“ _SANS_!!!”

Wait. Is it… may it be a setup for a joke? Is Sans waiting for Papyrus to knock at his door only to clog his sensitive earholes with bad humor? Ugh. The possibility is always high. Sans is the type of guy who jokes at the least appropriate times, in the worst way possible, just to get a couple of long faces to his pleasure. The type of guy who jokes about cripples and dead babies in the presence of cripples and dead babies. The type of guy who would probably meet the grim reaper with a pun so terrible that death will run away in disgust. Well, you get the idea. And the worst part of it is, if you are the only brother of such a punster, you don’t get much chance to escape.

Another cold fry meets its end in Papyrus’ jaw. It is soft and oversalted. He grimaces. Oh, for Asgore’s sake! He tried his best to be gentle, but it seems that most of the times violence is the best solution. Fine. He will just go and drag that lazy bag of trash out by himself. And Sans will have to make up for his behavior later on. Papyrus can’t think up anything nice right now, but – oh, he _will_.

He thunders up the stairs, as intimidating as he can be. He runs up to Sans’ door. He pounders on it three or four times and then, believing he has given the other’s privacy enough respect, he throws it open with a hearty kick.

“SANS!!!”

The inside of the room is wrapped in purple twilight. Streams of yellow light from the open door outline piles of papers, crumbled packages, fries stumped into the carpet - and a small dark lump of sheets on the dirty mattress. Papyrus rushes to that lump. He tears away the sheets and shakes the skeleton underneath them.

“HAVEN’T YOU HEARD ME BEFORE? OR SHOULD I MAKE MYSELF CLEARER? GET UP THIS INSTANT!”

He shakes the other’s shoulders for a moment longer before becoming aware that something is wrong.

Something is… off.

Sans’ head hangs down loose, his eyes are dark and round, and his face… well. It is quite unnatural for someone being shaken and shouted at to have such an aloof, blank – _peaceful_ \- face.

Papyrus freezes, still clenching Sans’ shoulders. The taste of salt lingers in his mouth. His thoughts stop, as if facing a dead end. His instincts, however, are still working accurately: he shrugs and checks the other skeleton’s stats out of habit.

For a second, everything seems fine to him. 1 ATK, 1 DF, 1 HP, right as it should be. Papyrus has enough time to blaze with anger and give this fraud another steady shake, when it happens.

_Tick._

Sans’ stats glitch and then return back to normal again.

Papyrus blinks at the oh-so-familiar numbers before him.

1 ATK. 1 DF.

0.9 HP.

 

***

 

There are no healers that would enter their house willingly. Papyrus has quite a reputation, and it’s a bad idea to dare get too close to him.

To be honest, it is a bad idea just to be born in the Underground with a talent to heal. Your life is going to be tricky at the very least. Half of the underground will try to seize you and turn into a slave. Another, saner half will haggle over every piece of gold you charge for your services. You can also hire someone, who will protect you while sucking your magic dry on a daily basis – or taking half of the gold you earn. Or you can stick together with other healers and form a union - only to probably get killed in a fight over the clients and prices. (Or never ever tell anyone you know green magic, and spend your life making sure no one learns about it.) Not the brightest perspective, you know.

To be even more honest, it is a bad idea to be born in the Underground _in general_.

So it’s no wonder that Papyrus has literally no one to turn to. He tries to wake the skeleton up with more shaking and shouting, and even tries a little bit of _that magic_ on him, but it does no good. Sans just refuses to react. Papyrus shakes him like a ragdoll before throwing him back on the mattress and storming out of the room in a frenzy of annoyed “nyeh”-s.

He has no idea what to do next.

Papyrus repeatedly runs in and out of the house for the next minute. He has his duties to perform, and he can spare no time for babysitting. At the same time, he can’t just leave Sans there to rot. He pays half of the taxes, after all! Yet, nothing can be done, really. There _is_ a handful of monsters Papyrus knows, but they wouldn’t help him even if they could. Normally that wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, but now! Of all the times! Sans surely knew how to cause him trouble, yeah…

At last Papyrus decides that Sans can wait – but his duties can’t. He goes on to meet the canine unit, gives them instructions and growls at them for a better effect. When the frightened whining reaches critical levels, Papyrus throws them a couple of bones and dismisses them. He looks at their backs as they leave, nurturing a hope that this will be enough to keep them from getting into trouble.

For another hour, at least.

The guard devotes the whole day to looking for some healer that he could trust, but nothing good comes out of it at the end. Of course he knows that bunny – and a guy in Waterfall who can patch you up without asking too many questions – and probably a Vulkin or two from Hotland, yeah. But the bunny will never deal with the skeletons, even if you aim a blaster at her. The Waterfall guy is good for wounds only. And Vulkins – well. Vulkins are just dumb. In the middle of the process they can forget that they were healing you and try to drown you in lava. It’s worth the risk when you have a hundred or two of HP points, but with Sans…

By the way, speaking of Hotland.

Papyrus lingers on a thought for a minute. Then he picks up his phone and dials a number. He would prefer not to deal with that _person_ ever again, but it seems that he has no choice.

Well. Another reason to be annoyed with Sans. It is his fault that Papyrus has to socialize when he doesn’t want to!

The guard is thinking about how he will make Sans pay when the line is picked up.

“H-hello?” A quiet voice stutters in the dynamic. “Who am I talking to? A-and, what is more important, d-do you mind reminding me why I d-don’t know your number?”

Papyrus sighs and picks on his nose bone.

“ALPHYS. WE NEED TO TALK”.

***

The Royal Scientist arrives in half an hour, incognito. She frowns at the cold of Snowdin and muffles herself in a fur coat. Her face gives away nothing but annoyance. If she had a choice, she would laugh at the thought of travelling half of the Underground for a reason no one bothered to tell her. But no choice is provided. Scientists stand lower than warriors, especially when said scientists are not currently useful. And Papyrus is a Royal Guardsman. His orders are just slightly less urgent than Asgore’s. Moreover, there is _that issue_ , so Alphys knows better than to disobey.

She follows Papyrus inside the house, keeping the same blank face. All emotions, if she still has those, are hidden behind the cloudy glasses. Papyrus squints at her. It is impossible to understand what she thinks or feels, and that is quite unsettling. But he keeps that to himself. It’s not like they are close enough to be annoyed by things like that.

“S-so? What’s happened?”

“THERE IS A PROBLEM THAT HAS PROVEN DIFFICULT TO SOLVE. I ASSUMED YOU COULD GIVE ME A HAND IN THIS.”

The cloudy glasses turn at him.

“Theoretically, wh-what reasons do I have to d-do so?”

“THEORETICALLY, YOU DON’T WANT ANYONE – FOR EXAMPLE, UNDYNE - TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR LITTLE HOBBY, RIGHT?”

Alphys squeezes her eyes shut and flinches. Her face is dark with fear for a moment, and that’s the second time Papyrus has seen her actually react to something. Then she stares at the guard blankly again.

“W-what do you w-want m-me to d-do?”

Papyrus waves at her to follow him and leads her to the small dark room.

“I FORBID YOU TO TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS”.

Alphys pauses in the doorway. She gives the skeleton on the mattress a thoughtful look and locks her fingers together.

“I…” A deep breath. “I see why you w-would ask me for help”. She takes off her coat, opens her bag, lowers herself to Sans, cuts his clothes open without much respect and starts a quick examination. Her plump hands in surgical gloves flutter all over his body like two white birds of prey, with a well-studied grace and swiftness. “You probably shouldn’t w-worry, Papyrus. I’m fairly g-good at keeping s-secrets”.

“NOT AS GOOD AS YOU THINK, THOUGH”, Papyrus growls impatiently. “OTHERWISE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE…”

“Yes, I know”, mumbles the scientist. After a moment she stands back and looks at Papyrus exhaustedly. “W-well. That’s it”.

“THAT’S IT WHAT? I HAVE NO TIME FOR PUZZLES RIGHT NOW!!!”

“That’s w-what it looks like”, says Alphys, locking her fingers again. “He… it is safe to say he f-fell d-d-down. After all, it is almost surprising that it took him th-that long to succumb. Even stronger monsters didn’t p-prove immune to this. And he was n-not…” She understands that she stepped too close to the boundary and shrugs it off. “However, I w-would call it… an hour. Maybe two. He h-has low HP by default, so… it shouldn’t take long for him to turn to d-dust. One c-could probably advise you to t-take _care_ of him soon, if you don’t want to waste the EXP, but I would not v-voice such a reckless opinion, of c-course”.

Papyrus stares at the dirty mattress.

Fell down. That is little less than a death warrant. The only difference is that the torture is a bit longer. From now on things won’t ever be the same. From now on, there is no Sans, just a living corpse ready to dust any minute. He has fallen down. That’s it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Papyrus can’t help but admit that this thought feels strangely… liberating.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's menu: some happy Papyrus, a little cheesy fish, lots of sad staring in the abyss and just a tad of unreliable narration.

On the second day Papyrus mostly enjoys himself.

Despite Alphys’ words, Sans is still holding on surprisingly. His HP lingers at 0.9. His body shows no signs of withering. However, falling down is a tricky process, and it never goes quite the same. Sometimes the body stays intact till the very last minute and then falls apart like a house of cards. Sometimes it crumbles slowly and steadily with every HP lost. Sometimes the HP vaporizes like water on a hot iron, and sometimes it trickles down in tiniest, slowest drops. You can never predict things like that.

Save for the fact that from the moment you started losing HOPE there’s pretty much nothing you can do to avoid death.

Papyrus can’t believe how well he received the big news. Not only well; he felt better than ever before! It was like carrying a burden on your shoulders for years, and years, and years, and then just throwing it away. And it was so good. He wonders what would happen if Sans fell down a year, two years earlier. Would it be better for everyone?

Well, his life was never _that_ bad, of course. Just not as good as it should have been. After all, it’s the Great And Terrifying Papyrus we’re talking about! He’s always been the strongest, the mightiest, the scariest thing around. A Royal Guardsmen; one of the most respected monsters in the Underground; Undyne’s favorite recruit, - and he almost surpasses her in strength already. Monsters scatter before him in awe and admiration. Children want to be like him. He’s so popular that all eyes follow him when he walks by. And no doubt that everyone’s madly in love with his puzzles, wits and handsome looks. So what’s wrong with a monster that wants something more, something better? Especially when the said monster clearly deserves it?

Ironically, _Sans_ never seemed to understand that.   

Papyrus floats around Snowdin as if his armor weighted nothing. He can’t stop smiling. The dogs wince and flee from that smile. They don’t know a thing about Sans’ condition, and they can’t quite understand why their boss is so happy all of a sudden.

Papyrus doesn’t tell them. He doesn’t tell anyone anything, even though telling wouldn’t be of any harm. It’s not like he is ashamed of the fact; at the end, a monster can’t choose what family he is born into. And Sans was always a freak of nature. A black sheep, and no one will probably even mourn the guy. Papyrus certainly won’t.

He notices Sans’ mailbox, which doesn’t even close anymore because of all the junk mail, and makes a note to himself to get rid of it.

In the afternoon he reports to Undyne, as always. She listens quietly, nodding to her own thoughts and poking the ground with a spear. When he turns around, dismissed, she catches him by a shoulder. “What’s up, Papyrus? You’re glaring like you’ve reached the twentieth level. Whom did you kill? Or did your shitty brother finally move out and leave you alone? Or, or! Let me guess. Someone told you that you are cool, as a joke, and you actually believed it!”

Papyrus just snarls silently. None of Undyne’s humor can spoil his mood.

“NO. I JUST DREAMED OF THE DAY YOU’RE GOING TO DIE. WAS CONSIDERING THE COLOR OF THE TIE I’LL WEAR AT YOUR FUNERAL. THAT IS A SERIOUS OCCASION, AFTER ALL – I WOULDN’T WANT TO SEEM RUDE”.

“Damn it, YOU!” Undyne makes a jump start – spear at hand, teeth bared, and screaming bloody murder. “IN! YOUR! DREAMS!!! You just a newborn puppy compared to me! So-o sma-all and cute”, sings she, teasing him. “Had you wet your panties yet? You’d better run and thank me you’re still alive! Oh, like HELL am I going to die on you!”

“BUT, SEE, THAT IS HIGHLY PROBABLE – UNHEALTHY LIFESTYLE, ENVIABLE POSITION AND THE GREAT AND TERRIFYING PAPYRUS AS A RIVAL… SORROWFULLY, YOUR DAYS ARE COUNTED”.

“NGAHH!!!  You shit-eating freak!!! Come here, and I’ll show you WHOSE time it is to DIE!!!”

Papyrus smiles wide and summons his bones. Just as always. That is the part of daily report he enjoys the most.

They fight a bit, maim each other insignificantly and part ways in mutual satisfaction. Papyrus sprints home, the wind sliding on his armor. He smiles again.

But… something is wrong.

He squints. Somehow the previous lightness is gone, and he is left with an odd anxiety in his soul. It is as vague as the sound of TV working the other side of the wall, and just as annoying.

Something is wrong.

Papyrus frowns, thinking of things that could cause such a feeling. His duties were done in time, the dogs mostly stayed out of trouble – quite surprisingly, to be honest – and his report went on just fine. Undyne didn’t show any signs of being displeased with him. Everything is okay. Then what the hell is going on?!

It all started with Undyne – he remembers that. Before her he had no difficulty feeling happy. Was that something she did? Something she said? No, everything was just as usual…

_“Or did your shitty brother finally move out and leave you alone?”_

Oh yeah, that was it. The guard grins. Yeah. She was closer to truth than she could’ve thought. He still doesn’t want to spill the beans – for some reason – so no wonder that her guess made him worry. Asgore almighty, Undyne almost got it! Save for the fact that Sans will move out a bit later. To a dustbin.

Papyrus shrugs and sighs. Well. He goes forward, and dirt beneath his feet gives way to snow, and everything is just the way it has to be.

Okay, _mostly_ everything, but…

Well! It doesn’t really matter.

It doesn’t matter at all.

 

***

 

Somewhere deep, deep in the woods a door stands.

It is locked. Snow settles on the bushes around it, on the doorstep. There is so much of it around; it is almost as if nobody ever comes here.

Something shifts briefly behind the door.

There is a long, long pause after that. No sounds, no movements. Only the snow, but the snow is so reclusive. If you are clever enough to leave no foot traces, it will never tell anyone what it saw and heard.

Something behind the door puts a hand to the doorhandle, feeling the cold wood. There is a tiniest crack between the door and the wall, but it is enough to let a thin stream of frosty air inside. Something behind the door smells it. It tastes like emptiness and sleeping trees.

Something behind the door lets out a sigh.

Then there is a momentary rustle, a small scratching sound – and whatever it was, it is gone.

There is only snow left.

 

***

 

The day goes on pretty normal after that. Papyrus vainly tries to smile as wide as he did in the morning. The result of his attempts makes the Greater Dog run away, whining, and Papyrus roars with amused laughter as the frantic crumbling of the snow dies away in a distance.

And everyone reacts pretty much the same. They stare, they talk in muffled voices. Papyrus can’t help but cherish that sudden increase in popularity. He is almost like Mettaton! Only the guard is more handsome. And is simply thoroughly better, in fact.

The townsfolk whisper things around him and follow him with glances. The guard bathes in their attention. He grins, and his cape streams behind him like blood gushing out from a wound. Monsters give way to him, avoiding his eyes, trying not to touch him in the crowd. He enjoys every single moment of it. Well, finally they have learnt to treat him properly!

When marching along the main street, Papyrus overhears a piece of a conversation: “I just don’t get it! Did he kill the king or something?”

No one really understands why the guard giggles suddenly, but they make sure to get out of his way nonetheless.

 

***

 

Somewhere in Waterfall a scientist sits to herself with a bag of chips. She eats them slowly, watching the water pour down from the caverns in the abyss beneath her feet.

It is just another normal day for her, just another long, long day.

She thinks quietly. The water is just cold enough to numb her feet; occasional pieces of trash bump against her skin like small fishes before falling over the edge. She is alone. No one wants to bother the Royal Scientist. Or maybe just no one wants to talk to her.

The water rushes past her and into the dark nothing below. She ignores her phone, buzzing with messages from groups in the Net which she can’t bring herself to care about. Chips are salty and crunchy, though, so she focuses on that. It is a nice sensation.

Her white lab coat is colored cyan from all that water around her.

She hums a tune from some anime opening, then she hums another one. Then she mumbles something and smiles to herself. It is almost like having a conversation, only no one is really listening – except for those who are _always_ listening.

She watches the stray cans and pieces of paper tip over the edge and disappear down below. She toys with a thought that she could go just like that, just lean over and drop and vanish.

Of course it’s just a thought, just a harmless thought. She isn’t going to act on it. 

She licks her fingers clean and fishes for the phone in her pocket, between the crumbs and notes and pieces of dog food. When it’s out, she types a new status and checks her contacts. Asgore is only for emergencies, Bratty and Catty blocked her for being “a puffed up squarehead” – which is not much of a loss, frankly speaking. Undyne rarely appears in the Net, and even if she did, most of the monsters are too intimidated to talk to her. Undyne would not probably want to talk to anybody, too.

One other contact doesn’t answer, but Alphys sends a message to him anyway. And another one, after a little pause.

For the first time, she doesn’t care if they are stupid or grammatically incorrect. For the first time, she doesn’t check if they have been received. Because, well. Because.

Even if there’s no response, you can always pretend that it is a conversation.

She checks the time and sighs – she must return to the lab now to check on the flower. When she is finished with the chips, she raises the empty bag like a glass, bowing her head, and then lets it go and watches it being swept away, falling further and further in the darkness.

 

***

 

Papyrus makes it home and watches a cook show on the TV in the living room. There is some nice bloodshed going on – something about cooking an Onion in onions, starring Mettaton (nothing out of ordinary). He watches the rectangle robot pose and throw flames all around, and everything is okay.

But…

Papyrus frowns and fidgets. He is a little hungry, but doesn’t feel like cooking or going out for groceries. So he finishes the takeaways. The unsettling feeling is back again when he takes the first fry, but it only makes him chew on it with a greater spite. The food is completely cold; salt and grease make him flinch as if he was in pain. He polishes it off anyway.

He is full. The show is good tonight. The coach possesses a certain comfiness of a well-known piece of furniture that you know exactly how to sit on to avoid the bumps and springs. Everything is alright; the house is full with colors and noise.

But…

The lamps seem a bit dimmer than usual, maybe the bulbs need changing. The noise coming from the TV is strangely quiet, and it echoes in the hall in a way that makes you shrug and turn on the volume. But it is alright. It is perfectly fine.

Papyrus has never noticed that the coach stands just in the right place to make both doors upstairs visible. His stare slides up two or three times for no reason. He assumes that he is simply sleepy.

Ugh. Another oversalted fry. That Onion on TV looks much more appetizing. It turned out to be a pie, with dust as a special ingredient.

“MAKES YOU STRONG, MY BLOODTHIRSTY DEARIES~”, Mettaton purrs, bowing over a pot. “THERE IS PLENTY OF PIE WE’VE MADE, SO YOU COULD EVEN GIVE A BIT AWAY TO SOMEONE ELSE… MAKE SURE TO SPICE IT ACCORDINGLY IN THIS CASE! MTT IS HAPPY TO PRESENT A WONDERFUL BRAND-NEW PRETTY POISON™. PRETTY POISON - KILL IN CLASS! ORDER NOW! DISCOUNTS FOR FAMILY MEMBERS!..”

Papyrus groans, turns the TV off and sits on the coach in silence, with arms and legs crossed, growling.

He is so upset all of a sudden.

That must be the food. It is just so greasy. So disgusting. Yeah.

It is fine. It’s okay. It’s okay…

His eyes slide up involuntarily once more, and-

and for a moment he thinks he can see Sans’ door open.

Papyrus bursts away from the coach. He soars upstairs in a single move and throws the door open. He takes in a deep breath, readying for – he doesn’t really know _what_ -

But nothing has changed inside. Sans is still lying down on his back, his eyes black and round, his limbs not having moved an inch. His HP is down to 0.8. The door must’ve opened because of a passing wind or something.

Papyrus shuts his mouth, closes the door, returns to the coach and turns the TV back on. Everything is the same. Yet…

The memory of Sans’ lifeless stare causes him some mild distress. It is really weird to see him not smiling for once.

Papyrus squints. He remembers the way Sans looks at him usually. The way Sans looks at anything at all. His eyes never change their expression; his teeth are always bared in a grin. It is almost possible to mistake that grin for sincere laughter, for actual mirth. Yet it has never been that. Sans always grins the same, whether he is looking at a page of a joke book or a murder scene.

 _Was_ , that is. Was looking.

And Papyrus made it his duty to wipe that grin off Sans’ face as often as he could. He kind of liked it, back then. He enjoyed toying with Sans, making him furious, offended, confused, taken aback – and seeing his grin drop, even for the smallest of seconds. He enjoyed talking about how the other skeleton should be more grateful to him for this protection, how Sans would be dust if not for him – because he saw how Sans flinched every time he said that. He enjoyed reminding Sans of how weak and useless he was. And, just look at that. He was completely right, wasn’t he?

Papyrus looks at the closed door upstairs for the last time and allows himself to smile contentedly. Considering everything, he likes Sans this way. Quiet, unnoticeable, not seeking trouble or intervening. Yes. He certainly prefers it like this.

He is okay like this.

But…

He smiles when he turns the volume higher (something that made Sans flinch and groan). He washes the dishes and leaves a clean kitchen behind (something that Sans never did). He looks through the usual reports, sorting them out. Then, after everything is done and the night is almost over, he walks upstairs, turns the lights off, takes off his armor and locks his own door.

The house is quiet and cozy. Papyrus smiles for the last time and closes his eyes. He is full, sleepy, warm and finally free. He has nothing to worry about. He has no more burdens to weigh him down.

He is fine.

 

 

But…

 

 

But…

 

 

 _But_.


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cheesiness, more fish, with a topping of snow puns and accidental bondage.

On the third day Papyrus wakes up to look at the calendar and notice that three days have passed since the second day.

(At this moment you will probably get baffled, but don’t worry. Let the thought process. Take your time. No, seriously, did you ever see a word said that those eleven days will follow one another _exactly_? I can tell you the answer right away, _no_ , no you didn’t. And at this moment you are probably sitting there and thinking angrily about my terrible storytelling, about my weird long paragraphs of nothing but ranting and my rather annoying voice. Ha. Well, toddles! If you can think of a better story, write it yourself. And if you can’t, which is much more probable, don’t be a crybaby. Grin and bear. It will not be so long, after all.)

Anyway, Papyrus. He gets up as usual, dresses up as usual, calls out for Sans as usual – only to pause and laugh at his mistake right after. He went shopping once, but forgot his list and skipped on half of ingredients he needed, so by the third day the food in the house has been reduced to a lonely bag of chips in the fridge. Papyrus gulps them down after a moment of hesitation. With a shrug and a disgusted moan, his day is officially started.

Papyrus walks off to his usual meeting with the dogs, shouts at them and receives the report of the night shift. The report is ordinary as well: no humans captured, no plots revealed, no riots put down. He walks back to Snowdin to add the report to his paperwork, thinking through the future files absentmindedly. But his thoughts slowly travel far, far away from the report, or the dogs, or Snowdin, or anything else around him – his mind is blissfully blank. The snow crumbles beneath his feet. The snowflakes fall on the armor…

…but suddenly – the snow is no more, and the snowflakes have melted away, and Papyrus is standing in Sans’ room and looking down at the other skeleton with no idea how in the world he came back there.

He doesn’t even realize it at once. But when he does, he is baffled… – no, this is an understatement. He is completely _stunned_. Overwhelmed and left numb. He blinks twice, staring at Sans as if the latter was entirely to blame. Then he puffs in annoyance and exits the room, making sure to slam the door with a bang as deafening as possible.

He feels like the stare of Sans’ lifeless eyesockets follows him.

Papyrus decides not to think about this little episode: mostly because he has no idea what to think about it. All the “why?”-s and “how?”-s and “what the hell?”-s spin in his head, all together, until he tosses them aside and tries to concentrate on his work. He finally finishes the report, lines up the papers, puts them in a fancy folder (with flames printed all over it) and nods to himself contentedly.

Everything’s okay.

There’s still some time left till the daily report, so he goes to recalibrate his puzzles. It is nothing but bad manners to leave solutions the same for more than a week, after all! The townsfolk may think that he deems them even more stupid and weak than he actually does! And there’s nothing more heartwarming than to see a deadly trap welcoming you on your way to the town, is there?

Papyrus checks the puzzles, sweeping the snow off the stepping plates. One of the puzzles is set off, but not solved completely; a line of footprints leads halfway through the maze before coming to a halt. There is something at the end of the footprints, something of a different shade of white and not as sparkly as snow. Papyrus carefully steps closer.

A large spike is protruding from the ground, right from the center of a pile of dust. The guard makes a little bewildered noise. It’s not like he makes his puzzles _that_ deadly! But that monster sure was unlucky as hell - or maybe just dumb enough to die in the easiest of puzzles, which is kind of impressive in its own way.

Because the only way for it to die at this spike was to throw itself on top of it. Probably a few times over.

Papyrus stares at the dust. And suddenly he wonders, does all dust look the same? Or is it somehow possible to tell which monster it belongs to? He is no scientist, he doesn’t know much about this matter… Do all monsters end up completely similar, without any chance to recognize them? And how does it feel, to have nothing but “essence” left of you to live on some boring, never changing object?

And is there any essence at all?  
  
For some unexplainable reason, Papyrus stares at the dust for much longer than he should. Finally he kneels down and sweeps it away without much respect.

Well, it seems that this particular monster is doomed to live on in a puzzle, which is not the worst fate, actually.

 

***

 

The next puzzle is located a little bit farther. Papyrus strides through the quiet forest, thinking about mazes and electroshock. He carefully dissects his traps in his mind, seeking for imperfections or possible loopholes. After all, if you can get past a puzzle by a little cheating, it means its creator is senile, period.

There should be no chances to skip the puzzle. No hidden levers, no tips or notes or whatsoever. Those are for toddlers. If a monster is old enough to walk on his own (or crawl – or swim – whatever), they should possess a sharp mind and even sharper senses. The weaklings aren’t even worth messing with. A monster should be quick enough to dodge the bullets, strong enough to pull a lever, and clever enough to sense the _Pretty Poison_ ™ in a plate of a deliciously-looking oatmeal.

Papyrus thinks long and hard about actually ordering the thing.

He finds the trap, not touched by anyone yet, and sets to work. He is no scientist, sure, but he has a very clear notion of how something should work. He touches a plate and envisions all the network of wires and detectors running from it that tie it to the rest of the mechanism. And he knows exactly how to make it tick. How to make it faster, or slower; easier or harder; how to make it into something entirely new with only a few moves of his fingers.

Papyrus takes his toolbox from his inventory and carefully pulls away the protective screen. He is in his element now: screws and wires sing to him as he slowly buries himself in the machinery. That goes here, and this goes there, and those can be turned this-a-way, and it is so exciting to see the immediate results of your work, to see how, even despite the changes and the movement, the whole system resides in perfect order. And a random small shock now and then only adds to the excitement. After all, all great activities are just a bit mortally dangerous.

Papyrus quietly hums to himself, caught in the bliss of the moment. Now he is actually glad to be alone, without the admirers and fans. They would only ask him stupid questions, or mess with his work, or just, well, stare. In an extremely annoying way.

Crack!

Papyrus lets out a moan of distress when another stray spark of electricity burns his ankle. He turns to see what wire did come off, but then the spikes on his armor get tangled in other wires, and he tries to free himself, but… well, he doesn’t know how, but in a minute he is completely wrapped up and lying on the floor. He tries to free his hands without tearing anything, but feels the tension in the wires and stops moving. And it seems he has little choice: either to ruin the mechanism or to spend an indefinite amount of time in the forest alone.

Well, now he is totally glad he doesn’t have any spectators.

“Hey, you there-… oops. I mean. ‘Ice’ to see you, mister. What are you doing?”

(Ok, forget what I just said.)

Papyrus groans and peers at a monster kid nearby. It is a Snowdrake, looking at him with great interest. Well. A skeleton, half-sticking from a machine and properly tied up, is a curious sight indeed.

“OH, JUST CHILLING”.

Snowdrake looks at him with awe and disbelief.

“And they said _my_ jokes were terrible”, he says, completely enraptured.

“WHAT? I DON’T… WAIT. OH. OH NO. DON’T TELL ME I MADE A PUN BY AN ACCIDENT!..”

“I… I think you did”.

“UUUUUGH. I _TOLD_ YOU NOT TO TELL ME!!!”

“S-sorry?”

Papyrus looks at the teen long and hard. Snowdrake flutters around helplessly. In all honesty, if his father wasn’t a big thing in New Home and his brothers weren’t the local mafia, the guy would be dead by now. He doesn’t have enough fangs, or claws, or desire to use them.

Or, perhaps…

“HEY, YOU. CAN YOU PUT THOSE FEATHERY EXTREMITIES OF YOURS TO SOME USE? OR ARE THEY GOOD FOR SWEEPING ONLY?”

“H-hey! Don’t be rude!” jerks Snowdrake. “What do you want me to do?”

“TO COME HERE AND PULL SOME OF THE WIRES AWAY”.

The teen watches him for some time.

“You won’t just do something bad the moment I help you out, will you?”

“PFF, NO. IF I WANTED, I COULD DO THIS ‘SOMETHING’ EVEN RIGHT NOW”.

“You probably shouldn’t! Or you would sadden my family deeply, and you clearly don’t want _that_ ”, Snowdrake chirps brightly, which makes you think that maybe claws and fangs are slightly overrated in comparison with family ties. He comes closer, anyway, and starts working with his beak to loosen Papyrus’ accidental bondage. “Ha. There’s a lot of work here. Are you sure nobody _helped_ you- Ok, _ok_ , I get it, don’t look at me like that, ha ha. Can’t help it, you know. Must be that stand up practice showing! By the way. Does that mean you owe me?”

“WHY THE HELL? YOU ALL ALREADY OWE _ME_ FOR BLESSING THE NEIGHBOURHOOD WITH MY PRESENCE”.

“Yeah, sure”, the teen says without much enthusiasm, but he keeps working. “…Do you think untying you counts as community work?”

“KEEPING SILENT ABOUT THIS WHOLE ORDEAL CERTAINLY DOES”.

“Ha ha. Could you say I’m helping you out of a _tight_ situation?”

“OH MY GOD. STOP. JUST. STOP”.

“Fine - _fine_. I swear, _nobody_ appreciates a good joke these days”, Snowdrake says with an eyeroll.

In a few minutes, Papyrus is finally free. He stretches and wipes the snow from his armor.

“THAT SHOULD MAKE IT”.

“ _Snow_ problem, mister”.

“UUUUUGH. YOUR JOKES ARE EVEN WORSE THAN THOSE SANS MAKES, AND THAT SAYS SOMETHING. WHY DO YOU EVEN TRY? YOU ARE CLEARLY NO COMEDIAN. IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A FOOL OUT OF YOURSELF, DO SOME _POLITICS_ INSTEAD”.

Snowdrake makes a bitter grimace and turns to leave.

“…BECAUSE I GUESS YOU WOULD MAKE QUITE A DECENT _WIREPULLER_ , IN ALL HONESTY”.

Snowdrake turns around with shock written all over his face.

“You didn’t”, he says in awe.

“I DIDN’T WHAT?”

“…I am totally writing _that_ down”, the teen says, flitting away in a hurry.

“IF YOU DON’T LEAVE OUT THE CONTEXT, I WILL LEAVE A DEADLY MAZE ON YOUR DOORSTEP”.

“O-oh. Of… of course!”

Papyrus watches him leave, sighs and returns to his business.

 

***

 

It takes longer now, with the mess that the inside of the puzzle were turned into, but eventually he gets it to work. He doesn’t have much time left for the rest of the mazes, sadly, so he starts walking back to the town. He goes on and on, lost in thought, marching through the trees and snow, thinking about traps and poison and all those things he likes to think about, so content with himself, completely dignified, completely calm…

And suddenly!

Suddenly!

Suddenly his face is uncomfortably close to a door, and his hand is reaching for the handle, and he has NO IDEA how in the world it is even possible!

Papyrus feels as if a whole freezing river has been poured upon him. Somehow he is back at his house, standing in front of Sans’ door, with a clear intention of opening it and not a memory of how he ended up where he did. But, while he swallows the air like a fish dying from asthma, his hands do their job and open the door – and, as a result, the great and terrifying Papyrus appears on Sans’ doorstep looking as dumb as possible.

Eyes: round and bulging.

Mouth: agape.

Frame: uncomfortably tall and protruding.

Overall outlook: resembling a wet puppy.

Welp.

Once the door is opened, Papyrus gains control over his body again. He screeches something angry, stamps and stares at his hands as if they have betrayed him.... but then he looks up at Sans – and falls silent, and shivers.

Sans’ trademark grin is still there, making him look like he has just heard a _killing joke_. But his eyes are hollow. The empty eyesockets stare nowhere and everywhere at once, yet it feels like their gaze is fixed precisely upon Papyrus. The feeling that settles over him - it cannot be described. It is _uncontrollable_ , _unexplainable_ , and _unsettling_.

It is like the older skeleton ridicules him again, even in death.

Papyrus slams the door shut and presses it down with his whole weight without a second thought. He is stuck like that - doubled up, wide-eyed and frozen - for a few weird seconds. Then he emits a roaring, stubborn laughter and makes his exit in what is left of his dignity.

That’s not much, but he makes best use of it.

 

***

 

It doesn’t stop.

Whatever Papyrus does, wherever he goes – it takes a blink for his legs to turn abruptly to Snowdin. He snaps out of it at the front door, or walking past Grillby’s, or at the stone bridge; he snaps out of it and backtracks in annoyance - only to return half an hour later. He paces to and fro under the questioning, amused looks of the townsfolk. They still pay attention to him, but that’s not the attention of a fan; more like, the attention of prey watching a wounded predator. Someone even dares a little laugh behind Papyrus’ back, and he meets nothing but piercing eyes when he turns around. He lets the accident slip for now. Mostly because he feels like they would all sneer at him if he as much as said a word.

One step forward, two steps back. Circling, circling, circling. Like a stubborn dog, put on a tight rubber cord: no matter how hard you pull and how far you run, in the end it will always drag you back to where you have started.

But some dogs just never learn.

Papyrus feels like an idiot. He turns back immediately when he sees the lights of Snowdin. He pulls and pulls that invisible cord, and yet some feeling without a name keeps calling him back, to the empty lifeless house. Circling, circling, circling forever.

He feels like Sans’ stare follows him everywhere he goes.

That feeling doesn’t stop even when he at last enters the dark little room upstairs, kneels before the skeleton and closes his eyesockets. What looks like bone is actually quite soft and elastic under his fingers, and he meets as little pressure as if he was closing the lids of a human.

Papyrus looks at now peaceful, sleeping-like face of Sans, at the dark circles under his eyesockets and the sharp fangs in his perpetual grin, and thinks of how annoying the bastard is. That useless, worthless freak. Making him fell stupid even when like this, that’s a whole new level of pranking!

He walks away, but then hesitates on the doorstep. He returns to the twilight room and finds a little rusty key in it. Click! – and the door is locked.

Papyrus sighs wearily and grabs the report. It’s high time Undyne received it. Of course, he could’ve sent one of the dogs to her, – his own presence is only required from time to time to show he’s still alive, or in case of an emergency, – but he decides against that. A little walk to Waterfall and back won’t kill him, after all. And if it helps him stay away from that cursed house… if it helps him toughen up a bit, and regain his senses…

Papyrus forbids himself to understand how glad he is to have that chance to escape.

 

***

 

Undyne is disappointed and presents a really unpleasant sight. Her only yellow eye twitches subtly; muscles bulge under her scarred skin in a way that screams danger.

“Oh, _Papyrus_ ”, she growls when she sees him come close. “What a _sight_ for a sore eye! Two days in a row, jerk? Missed my lovely face? Or did you like it when I racked your ass? Never knew you were a _masochist_ ”.

Papyrus squints at her. Undyne’s humor is always somewhat dark, but today it is seething with spite.

“SOMETHING’S UP? SOMEONE STOLE YOUR CANDY?”

“ _Sergeant Papyrus_ ”, Undyne says, and Papyrus is wise enough to shut his goddamned mouth and stand at attention. When it’s work, it’s work. You don’t mess with Undyne when she’s being Captain Undyne, or you may have much fewer limbs to count by the end of the day. “I have enough trouble. Don’t cause more of it”.

Papyrus breathes in. He feels slightly interested, but not enough to risk asking.

“YES, CAPTAIN, MA’AM”.

“Now, you…” Undyne’s tone is a little less formal, but even more threatening. “The canine unit of Snowdin is in your charge, isn’t it?”

“YES, MA’AM”.

The warrior licks her lips, resembling a piranha in an extremely distressing way. “And as far as I remember, you are supervising the whole Snowdin. And that means every hired sentry member around the place”.

Papyrus starts to understand something.

“…YES, MA’AM”.

“Then it’s you”, she practically roars it, “it’s _you_ whom I should be asking WHERE THE HELL is that FUCKING SKELETON!!!”

Papyrus frowns, not so because of Undyne’s tone, but more because of the question. He really wants to keep it to himself, for some reason… but that is an order. An order should be always fulfilled right away. That is a rule, and _rules are not something to be broken so simply_.

“AT HOME, MA’AM”.

Oh, that face. He hasn’t seen Undyne this furious in ages. If it was possible to kill with looks, the whole Waterfall would have suffered genocide in a matter of seconds. Hopefully, Undyne doesn’t have any Medusa descendants in her family tree.

“Oh, REALLY?!?! How sweet! But WHAT the HELL IS HE DOING AT HOME?!”

“FALLING DOWN, MA’AM”.

And just like that – the fury is gone, and Undyne looks at him with amusement.

“Wait, _what_? No kidding? Ma-an. Serves him right, huh?”

“IF YOU SAY SO, MA’AM”.

“Oh, come on. At ease”. Papyrus doesn’t change his pose, but provides her an arrogant look. “So, how? When? Fill me on the details. NGAHHH, I sure HATE it when I am to know the news last!”

“IT HAPPENED FIVE DAYS AGO. I COULDN’T CARE LESS HOW OR WHY. AND YOU ARE THE FIRST TO KNOW, IN ALL HONESTY”.

Undyne freezes and stares at him in a funny way.

“…Really? Huh”, she says, somehow less energetical than before, but amends that with a toothy snarl. “Well, can’t say I didn’t call that! I remember the first time I saw him, I thought the guy would kick the bucket in a DAY, but look! Actually fooled me for a whole two years”.

She still looks a little bit strange… pensive, even. But maybe she is just thinking about the papers she will have to fill on the occasion.

“URGH. AS FOR ME, THE QUICKER THE BETTER. WOULDN’T MIND HAVING HIM OFF MY BACK A YEAR OR TWO EARLIER”.

Undyne stares at him like he has just faceplanted in front of the whole royal family.

“Jeez, Papyrus. Sorry, but… You’re quite an idiot”.

“WHAT?! WHY?!?!?”

“...Well, I never told you that, but - goddamn it, Papyrus! You had a _family member_ who, like, _never_ tried to mess with you, and you just walked around like you didn’t even notice it! You had a perfect opportunity to fight side by side with someone, and you just _screwed it up_!!! You just up and _screwed_ up your chance to actually get an ally, - a real freaking _ally_ , Papyrus! Just imagine, a powerful duo against all enemies! A freaking BONE-CRASHING TEAM!!! I don’t know, I never liked your bro and stuff, but, damn it...” She trails off. “If _I_ only had someone to fight with...”

Papyrus considers her with mild amusement. Not that he is surprised to hear that she hid something from him. Well, it is only natural that she didn’t bother telling him earlier, with Sans awake and functioning. She didn’t want to risk having a possibly powerful union formed under her nose. But that air, bordering with… sadness? You rarely see the feeling shown by most monsters, and never - by Undyne.

She shrugs off the strangely longing look that settled over her. “I mean, there is no one clever enough among those giant guard sissies! Those guys are completely DUMB and like HELL I would want to have someone dumb as an ally!”

“TAKE A SCIENTIST, THEN”. It’s all easy for Papyrus.

Undyne shrugs weirdly, as if trying to get rid of an unwanted thought.

“Well... not that I know many scientists! Not exactly my field, see…”

“ANYWAY. SANS WAS NEVER AN OPTION FOR A FIGHT”.

“Why the hell? I don’t get it”.

Papyrus gasps and bulges his eyes in a terrifyingly ridiculous manner.

“I DON’T GET HOW YOU DON’T GET IT!!! HE IS - WAS - WEAK AS HELL!!! A SMILEY TRASHBAG, AND NOTHING ELSE!!!! THE ONLY THINGS HE CAN DO IS GRIN, LIE AROUND SLEEPING HIS ASS OFF, MAKE TERRIBLE JOKES AND SLACK OFF HIS JOBS!!! HE CAN’T FIGHT, HE CAN’T DEFEND HIMSELF, AND HE IS NOTHING BUT AN ANNOYING, LAZY, FAT, DISAPPOINTING SLOB!!!”

Undyne blinks at him in confusion, taken aback by something in his voice that sounds almost like genuine hate.

(But hey, it’s not like it _is_ , right?)

“…I always thought you were just exaggerating, but… You know, the way you talk about him makes me think he was a Moldsmall or something”.

“WELL!!! MAYBE HE WAS. IT’S NOT LIKE I WOULD CARE EVEN IF HE WAS JERRY’S BELOVED WIDOW!!!”

“No, I mean…” She growls and summons a long, thin spear to twist it in her fingers like a cone. “I mean, it makes me wonder how the hell he survived that long”.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO WONDER – OBVIOUSLY HE OWED THAT TO ME AND MY UNFAILING PROTECTION! NO ONE WOULD LIKE TO MESS WITH THE ROYAL GUARD, NYEH HEH HEH!!!”

“Yeah, _that_ too, but… You haven’t _always_ been a Guard, Papyrus”. Undyne sighs, thrusts the spear in the ground – a passerby Aaron flexes away in terror – and shrugs. “Not like it matters now, though. That’s all I wanted to know, sergeant. Dismissed”.

Papyrus feels like the talk is not over yet, like he hasn’t heard something Undyne wanted him to hear, but she looks at him in a way that clearly suggests getting lost. And, even if he may be a numbskull at times, he gets the message. He nods, hands the report to her and turns around.

And his feet take him back to Snowdin once more.

 

***

 

In the evening he can’t help but feel ill at ease. He has forgotten to buy any food, so the fridge is as empty as his magic resources. The TV is always too quiet, no matter how hard he presses the sound button. The sports show, his favorite, is really dull today as well. He fidgets in worry. Is it intuition? Is it paranoia? Papyrus has always believed his hunches, but he can’t tell if that’s a hunch or a simple mood swing.

He turns off the TV completely, irritated by his inability to enjoy the show. The house is even quieter now, the uninhabited kind of quiet. Papyrus huddles up on the coach. Even it seems less home-like than before. In fact, nothing around him really seems “home” at this point.

Papyrus goes to sleep rather early – strangely enough, since usually he can be content with only an hour or two of snoozing. But he feels tired, and everything that had to be done is done already, and who really cares? He bundles himself in a blanket and is ready to close his eyes when he suddenly feels that urge – that call – again. He is tempted to go unlock Sans’ door and check on him. He stirs restlessly, tangling himself in the blanket, and his thoughts don’t go away – his temptation doesn’t die. Sans is too close, painfully close, just next door. What if he’s fallen from the mattress? What if he’s dust already?

…What if his eyes opened on themselves, and he stares again – right at him?..

 

 

 

 

 

Papyrus sleeps on the coach that night.


	4. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serving today: cooking with a killer fish, bad dog(s) shenanigans, slow (food) burn and lots of grease.

On the forth day it becomes weirder - in all senses possible.

Papyrus can’t stop circling, can’t stop thinking, can’t stop his world from spinning around a dark room next door. It is stupid, meaningless and overall weird – and yet, yet… Like a dog on a cord, like a dog called by his master, he comes to the silent door to gaze upon it for minutes, listening, waiting. He doesn’t even know _what_ he is waiting for.

(Perhaps for a knock-knock joke?)

He stumbles through the town. The sudden popularity doesn’t seem so great to him anymore. Half of the monsters look through him, as if he doesn’t exist; half of them look straight at him with unexplainable spite and curiosity. The dogs whine just as always when he shouts at them, but their eyes are sharper too. That aggravates him, and only his common sense prevents him from dusting a couple of his subordinates.

Papyrus watches them shuffle off and feels nothing but dull anger.

With an effort of will, he drags himself through the daily routine. He forces himself to read the report, even though his eyes sometimes get stuck at the same line for minutes. He furnishes one of the sentries with the papers and sends him to Undyne, wondering grimly if her mood has improved. He trudges to the forest and checks his traps, and makes a decent but futile attempt to feel excited about them. He tries to draw a scheme of a new puzzle only to tear the result right after. He finally succumbs to the temptation and orders the Pretty Poison over the phone, but even Mettaton’s sweet prerecorded voice doesn’t sound very sweet now. Nothing feels really _right_ at this point.

Something is wrong, but Papyrus can’t place his finger on what exactly.

He comes home and sticks by the door again. He presses his skull to it in order to hear what’s going on inside. But there’s dead silence and nothing else; and, frankly speaking, the door would muffle all sounds, if there were any in the first place. Papyrus calls himself stupid and rushes away.

But do you think that calling names would stop him from coming back in a minute?

And so he does.

 

***

 

…Undyne sighs and kicks an Echo flower.

Thoughts. Thoughts! THOUGHTS!

Papyrus acted wisely, sending a dog instead of himself. This way, it was Lesser Dog who got supplexed, and not him. Really, even though Undyne has watched all those human shows, her concept of wrestling is still far too deadly to be accurate.

…The dog survived, if anything.

She wishes she could spar with somebody right now. But Papyrus isn’t here, and the dogs are too fragile, and Asgore is probably busy at the moment – and lately he _tolerates_ her rather than _welcomes_ her, which is kind of annoying. The world is harsh, sure, and no one really cares about you, but you don’t want to see constant reminders of that. And even though she _maybe_ feels _a teensy weensy bit hurt_ by the way she got turned off by the King not so long ago – …oh no, the thoughts, the thoughts again. It is frustrating when she is left with nothing to do. She starts thinking. She is not made for that at all, so it never ends well.

Oh, how she misses a good fight!

She knows some good outlets for her emotions, though. She throws some rocks into the river, kicks the dummy around, and plays her piano like she wants to kill a person. Somewhere in the process she starts to sing, too, which almost makes her ghost neighbor die from a heart attack – before they remember they don’t have a heart.

That helps, but not much. The moment her last note dies away, she starts fidgeting with all the energy she still has. This won’t do. Rushing into things head-first will only bring you trouble.

Undyne frowns at some unwanted memory and decides to cook.

Oh, she loves that. She loves many things, sure, but sometimes she just wants to scream at the way they are done! Every action needs passion, and zest, and fire. (Preferably metaphorical.) If you just want to scramble around, never daring to look up or make something big, you should probably just never start at all. Fight your way through! Aim high! Put your everything in it!

Undyne emits a battle cry and throws three eggs in a bowl so hard that they almost break through its bottom, and then starts stirring with the energy of a plane turbine.

Yeah! Just like this! Straight to the point, and never stepping back!

Some flour is added to the eggs, so that when the stirring starts again, puffy flour clouds soar all around Undyne. She bares her teeth and laughs devilishly, pretending that the flour is the dust of her fallen enemies.

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

When the hellish mix is ready, she decides to call it a sauce and dumps some tomatoes inside, to add the flavor. She throws them whole, but her stirring helps that quickly. The flour dust around her is now stained with tomato blood, making the kitchen look like a battlefield. Which it is, in a sense.

Yeah, that’s how you do it! Determined, strong, that is _just_ like Undyne!

When the sauce is poured upon her pasta, though, she suddenly questions if that really _is_ how you do it.

She tastes the dish and nods contentedly, deciding that it is definitely not _that_ bad – even edible today, in all honesty. Cooking is fun, yeah.

Well, maybe less so when you are doing it alone…

Undyne sighs and gulps down the pasta. Ugh. That is one of the things she really doesn’t like about herself. She has to _always_ keep her hands and legs occupied, or else she starts thinking. And that is no fun, because it’s hard to think about anything fun in the Underground.

But now there is nothing left for her to do, and honestly she doesn’t feel up to anything right now, sorry, so she thinks.

She thinks about things.

One of them is Papyrus.

Well, she is really _not_ the most determined person around, she admits. When it comes to being straightforward, he would probably outdo her by a huge margin. She actually envies this a bit. The way he speaks his mind without thinking twice, the way he does all things on a whim and still somehow manages to stay afloat. It is annoying, of course, but sometimes she just wishes she had that, too. Sometimes she wishes everything was just as simple to her as it is to him.

And also she thinks about how easily he handles the big bad news.

And she kind of envies that, too.

…Funny things, those thoughts are, aren’t they?

 

***

 

Papyrus notices something.

He notices that something is missing.

Even the Grillby’s sounds a bit different when Papyrus walks past it. When outside, his eyes trail along the places Sans was usually seen at, all the spots where one would run into his stupid grin and his nasty jokes. Now those places feel… empty. There is one less voice in the air, one less figure in the crowds. Normally by that time Sans would be standing somewhere near his station, selling fried snow and telling awful jokes. Papyrus would usually make a face and speed up to leave him behind. Now it’s quiet there, and no one is waiting around. Is it for the best?

Yeah, probably.

The dogs finally get into trouble (he has been wondering when it’ll happen). Doggo is stupid enough to start a fight with both Dogamy and Dogaressa at once, and the guard has to pull the whining, squealing, growling tangle of bodies apart before they rip apart each other’s throats. He succeeds. His ultimate prize for settling the conflict is the fact that there is less paperwork for him: after all, a subordinate’s death leads to more reports and warrants and funeral business.

Papyrus suddenly catches himself thinking that he needs a day off.

He chuckles.

Well, who needs jokes when the life is that funny on itself, huh?

 

***

 

The dog doesn’t stop whining.

“Enough”, Alphys says.

It gets her a moment of silence while the dog is busy watching her in confusion. Then, deciding she is not worth attention, it turns away and vibrates with its whole body before emitting another rumbling whine.

The scientist sighs.

Sometimes, things just don’t go the way you want them to go. No matter how diligently you try to guide them the right way, no matter how many road signs you poke them with, they just straight refuse to obey you and keep wandering somewhere else instead.

For Alphys, “sometimes” means “every single fucking day”.

Just like today. Of course, that pile of useless goop (that once was a fighter, a mime and a singer’s sister) couldn’t just leave Alphys alone for a single hour. It just had to go and try to smash the door with its own - teeth? tendrils? And all the other subjects couldn’t keep from entering such a wonderful commotion. The scientist did her best to minimize the destruction they caused, but with little success. Anyway, the result of this chaos was a smashed door, a room that couldn’t be used anymore, a sea of goo all across the hall - all over _her_ as well - and a mishmash of dogs who apparently needed a babysitter.

If only there was another way out! But there was none.

And thus Alphys is stuck with the pile of what used to be the most predatory canine pack in the whole Underground, and now is a big excited jellybean who wants somebody to play with it.

Alphys sticks her claws into the panel with a sigh.

“Listen. I am trying to g-get you a room. With a nice door that opens the way I want. Alright? So be a good boy... girl... dog and let me do that”.

The subject lets out a long moan resembling the sound of a jet plane taking off.

“I know you didn’t want to give away your former room", Alphys says, not tearing her eyes from the buttons. The lights on the corridor’s ceiling are weak and flickering, and it’s hard to concentrate. "But if subject 07-H was left unsupervised, you’d probably be the first to run to me whining”.

That is true: looks like a mix of a manager and a street fighter is a very explosive solution. The mime in there probably only adds the fuel.

The dog sighs too, sounding like a turbine coming to a halt, and then walks away in its signature wobbly steps. Alphys looks away from the console, briefly annoyed, only to see it return in a minute, holding something in its orifice like a normal dog in its maw.

It’s a bone. An old and yellow one.

“Where did you get this?” Alphys asks, turning away from the panel. “Give it to me”.

The dog seems to have different ideas. It swiftly avoids the lizard’s hands, backing off and grumbling like a small engine.

“I have no time for games”, Alphys tells it, looking sternly at its orifice (due to the lack of other variants). “I won’t play fetch with you - no. Bad boy. Give it to me, now. I said, no fetch! No!”

The dog lets her grab the end of the bone, but the moment she tries to take it away, it pulls with all its force. With a yelp Alphys finds herself hanging from the bone in midair, with the ground somewhere hopelessly far away below her feet.

“B-bad dog!!!”

The dog seems outrageously content with itself. A few drops fall on Alphys’ head, and she prefers not to think about what it may be.

“Bad dog, I said”, she says very seriously, in her most formal tone possible, while trying to feel the ground with her toes. “Bad boy. A very bad boy! And you know what bad dogs get? They get no rooms or dog food or toys, ever, and they receive twice as many shots”.

That seems to do the trick, because after a few moments of careful consideration she is lowered to the ground with a deafening excusatory whine.

“That’s more like it”, Alphys says, pulling the bone away. The dog begrudgingly lets her take it. “Where did you find it, now?”

Of course she gets no answer. She sighs and puts the bone on the floor next to her feet. It is not a good toy, after all, and if it breaks while the dog is playing with it, the shards may get stuck inside the subject’s body, and this is a headache she doesn’t want to deal with at all. Ok, where was she with that panel…

The bone softly bumps into her foot. She looks down to see the dog huddled up, with its head on its forelegs. It makes a sound of a computer shutting down.

“What d-do you want, now”, Alphys says, trying to sound annoyed, but she doesn’t.

The dog raises its head and whines, then pushes the bone with its forehead again.

“He is not coming”, Alphys says, staring at the panel. “Your room is almost ready, and then you will not be disturbed anymore”.

The dog whines.

“I said, no. Stop”.

The dog whines.

“I said…”

The dog keeps whining.

“I said he is _not_ coming!” Alphys growls at it in the loudest voice she’s ever used.

The dog presses its ears down and stops.

She presses her palms into the wall, closes her eyes and breathes – in, out.

Then she continues reprogramming the door.

“Enough”, she says, even though it is silent now. “Enough”.

 

***

 

Papyrus flops down on the coach and growls. What the hell is going on? He thought that Sans caused him a lot of trouble before, but look at what is going on now! Sans used to be so invisible, so small and insignificant that it was easy to overlook him – which Papyrus did. And now somehow he became the biggest pain in the ass ever.

Sans had never been worth remembering, after all. A mindless prankster, telling awful jokes, grinning at everything with the same blank stare, appearing at his stations whenever he saw fit to, vanishing from them whenever he felt like. He haunted the house in the mornings, filling it with a low tired voice and the smell of burnt food. But for the rest of the time he was unnoticeable. He spent days at Grillby’s and nights elsewhere, only dropping on his bed at the dead of the night. To think of it, Papyrus didn’t see much of Sans lately. They haven’t even spoken properly for weeks. Not that they were keeping silent intentionally; Papyrus just didn’t see any purpose in talking, and Sans seemed to feel the same. What _would_ they talk about, anyway? The weather? The gossip? They never had much in common.

At least, that’s how it has been for years…

It used to be so comfortable before. Back then, all Papyrus had to do was to drag Sans out of his room in the morning (because there were days when he wouldn’t leave it on his own), make sure he ate something (because there were days when he forgot to do it), and shout at him when it was necessary to tell him off. That last thing happened much more often than he would like. He demanded order, and order isn’t something that difficult to maintain, after all!..

Speaking of order…

Papyrus sits straighter on the coach, and suddenly, in a moment of clarity – in shock, he sees _dust_ on the coach, and _dirt_ on the floor, and first strings of _webs_ on the ceiling, and the overall _chaotic_ state of the place. He jumps, gasping. What? How come? How is it even _possible_?! It’s never been that dirty in his house, never! What has become of it? Is it a sick joke?!

That’s all very confusing.

Papyrus runs to the closet as if he’s being chased by a horde of Jerrys. He grabs all the mops and rags he can see and starts his assault on the dirt. He fights it ferociously, like a much hated enemy. It’s silly to put this much effort in a task that mundane, of course. But Papyrus has always loved to tidy up. Sure, it _has_ to lighten up his mood if only he tries hard enough!

After an hour of housework he lies to himself that he feels better. Somehow tidying has lost its zest. He looks at the remaining chaos with exhaustion and lies once again, promising himself that he’ll get to clean it a bit later. He has to… ugh, to do whatever has to be done right now. Clearly he is very busy; he has a lot of activities to pay attention to.

He looks up at the locked door and walks away with his eyes averted.

Confusing.

 

***

 

…He is walking through the forest when he notices in a distance a small lump of whiteness, not exactly mixing with the snow.

He grumbles and hurries up.

The lump rises to its feet, barks once and follows him.

Papyrus groans and throws him a bone. Honestly, that little white dog has an ability to appear at least appropriate moments. Strangely, no one in the town knows where this guy comes from, where he lives, or what canine clan he is related to. He just… well, he just _is_. And the only thing that Papyrus knows about him is that he is a “he”, but he doesn’t quite remember where that came from.

And also, for some reason, the dog really, _really_ likes to mess with him.

The little white dog catches the bone and makes a soft excited sniffle. He passes Papyrus, which is a hard work for his short legs, and marches before him with bone in his teeth, as proud as a Royal Guardsmen himself.

Papyrus snorts.

“GET LOST, YOU OBNOXIOUS CANINE”.

The dog sniffs quietly and looks at Papyrus with large pleading eyes. After some thought, he stops in front of the skeleton and drops the bone to his feet.

“OH. IS THAT FOR ME? IT’S A SHAME I DON’T WANT TO TOUCH SOMETHING THAT YOU HAVE SALIVATED SO PROPERLY”.

The dog whines and blocks Papyrus’ way.

“UGH, FINE. I WILL TAKE IT. BUT THEN YOU WILL DISAPPEAR. GOT IT?”

The dog nods enthusiastically, but the moment Papyrus bends down – his hand is suddenly in a trap of the dog’s teeth, and the next moment the canine races off, dragging him behind.

“W-WAIT!!! STOP RIGHT AWAY!!! THAT IS AN ORDER!!!”

But the little white dog doesn’t care about his orders, or his magic, which is burning and crackling like a lightning. He runs on and on, leading Papyrus further in the forest.

“ST-STOP! I! ORDER! YOU! STOP RIGHT NOW!!! NOW! UGH-”

They burst into an opening, screaming and puffing, only to come to a full stop and face a future crime scene. Papyrus notices a Snowdrake, circled by a band of IceCaps and Moldsmalls. They look smart enough to pick a prey that is no good at fighting, but too stupid to understand consequences that go beyond being bitten or scratched.

“Oh, no!” squeaks the Snowdrake pitifully, flapping his feathers and fidgeting. “I seem so _very_ cornered! I am so _vulnerable_! Surely I stand _not a chance_ against such a crowd! _Alas_ , my terrible luck!”

“MAY I NOW HAVE MY LIMB BACK?” asks Papyrus in his most polite voice, and the dog lets go immediately.

The whining Snowdrake looks shocked when a forest of bones pierces the snow in front of him. A few bones hover above his head, accompanied by a small Blaster.

“I AM UTTERLY SORRY TO INTERRUPT YOUR REGULARLY-SCHEDULED BLOODSHED, BUT UNFORTUNATELY I REPRESENT THE ROYAL GUARD IN THIS AREA, AND KING ASGORE IS QUITE STRICT WHEN IT COMES TO GANG KILLINGS”.

Most of the IceCaps vanish immediately, but a few others stay, confirming their lack of intelligence. However, it takes only one bone to lower a Moldsmall’s HP to one point – and to shoo it, with the rest of the gang, away.

Snowdrake looks up at him with some unreadable emotion.

“IF YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR WORDS CAPABLE OF CONVEYING YOUR ENDLESS GRATITUDE, A SIMPLE THANK YOU WILL SUFFICE IF ACCOMPANIED BY A KOWTOW”.

“Oh, right”, says Snowdrake and smiles. “…Yeah. Really helped me out. Thanks for throwing me a bone, I guess?”

“UUUUUGH. I ALREADY REGRET RESCUING YOU”.

Papyrus dissolves the bones and the Blaster and turns away to walk home.

The dog is gone.

 

…A few armor-clad Chilldrakes confusedly crawl from behind the trees, looking just like they were lying there in some kind of an ambush – _oh_.

“Hey – we took weeks to get those dustbags out of the hiding! Why did you let him intervene with the plan? _What_ was that, even?” asks one of them.

“Why – a rescue mission!” chirps Snowdrake. “Didn’t you hear him?”

There is a pause until he emits a little croaking laugh, and the Chilldrakes start looking at each other understandingly.

“You think he had any idea?..”

“But _of course_!” Snowdrake says. “He _always_ knows what is going on!”

Some Chilldrakes start giggling. “No, but – you know. It is all so funny”.

“I _know_!” Snowdrake says admiringly. “The guy is basically a walking joke. Maybe different from what his brother was, but…”

“I guess that kind of thing runs in the family”, says one of his gang.

“Yeah”, Snowdrake says with what sounds almost like paternal pride. “I guess it _does_!”

 

***

 

When the almost-light of the day starts giving way to nighttime darkness, Papyrus suddenly sees the takeaway packages in the bin and tries to recall if he had any dinner today. He can’t. He can’t recall having breakfast either, or eating at all. That’s weird to forget such a thing, but he doesn’t feel hungry, so there’s probably nothing to worry about.

Anyway, a monster has to eat even if he has no desire to. Papyrus sets off for the shop. The owner, a fat bunny, looks at him in an odd way, but doesn’t say anything. She wraps his purchases as neatly as she always does, and bows her head as low as always. Yet… didn’t the potatoes cost twenty just five days ago? Why are they thirty-three all of a sudden?

Still, it could be his mind playing tricks on him…

Papyrus returns home with the products and slaps his palms together in excitement. Great! He always took a certain liking for this activity. The sound of water hitting hot oil, the sizzling of vegetables, the occasional fire that erupted from the pan when he added oil… ah, those wonderful details of a pleasurable process! Not to mention that he is free to bang his pans and pots together as much as he likes. And nobody will interrupt his sacred art of cooking by accidental musical torture anymore…

Papyrus sets all the ingredients on the table, unpacks and cleans them, puts on his apron and prepares a bowl and a knife.

Well!

He decides on some fried potatoes with mincemeat and vegetables. Papyrus is an orderly cook! Maybe even a bit too much. He is one of those who will loom over a pan with a stop-watch. And if the recipe says to measure precisely 18 and a half gram of sugar, be sure that not a spare grain will be added to that.

For no reason at all, Papyrus’ food always is kind of bland.

He chops down the potatoes, puts them in a preheated frying pan with some oil and onions, cuts some tomatoes and mixes them with the mincemeat. It goes to another pan to stew. The scents are delicious.

Papyrus hums happily - and loudly enough to drown down a fire siren. His cutlery rings and clanks, his food is getting ready, his mood is high as ever…

Maybe he is content enough to share, even!

“SANS, IF YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS MEAL, YOU MUST HURRY!”

He stirs the mincemeat blissfully, but soon starts frowning. Somehow there’s no response to his words. Usually, Sans doesn’t leave out an opportunity to get some free food…

“SANS!!!”

He leaves everything as it is and runs upstairs. Sans’ door is locked – he can’t remember why – he bangs on it, then opens his mouth…

And then he realizes.

Papyrus falls silent, picking on his apron. Then he turns his back to the door and leans on it.

That’s actually… kinda funny.

He toys with his apron, not quite thinking about anything, until he smells something burnt. He rushes down, but too late. The potatoes have caught fire, and the mincemeat is turned coal black. It tastes like coal, too.

Papyrus sighs and thinks that nothing will ever stop Sans from burning whatever food he comes in contact to. And it doesn’t even require direct involvement.

Funny, isn’t it?

 

***

 

However great he is, Papyrus can’t eat raw noodles. And since raw noodles are all that is left in the house, he is in quite a pickle. He thoughtfully chews on a burnt tomato and decides that he needs something more filling. And that means only one thing.

The skeleton trudges through the night, squinting at the rare lights in the windows. The wind lashes on his face, and sometimes the snowflakes fly right inside his eyesockets. It’s not painful, just inconvenient, and Papyrus has to stop every now and then to pick them out. Otherwise, when he gets inside, they will melt and make him look like he is crying, and that’s no fun.

He pauses before the heavy door with a handle worn by dozens of hands. The windows left and right to the door blossom with lights and blurry shadows, and he can feel heat radiating from them. There’s mutter and clinking that show clearly: there’s a lot of talking and a lot of drinking going on inside.

Yep. It seems Papyrus has no choice but to go to Grillby’s.

If only he had a choice! But the shops are closed already, so he can’t even get a freaking cinnamon bun. And the only place that would serve him at the middle of the night is Grillby’s. Papyrus comforts himself with the thought that he is doing a big favor to the bar owner. The poor guy must’ve felt terrible, knowing that his establishment is the only one in the town that the great and terrifying Papyrus has never entered! The fire monster will be indebted for a lifetime for getting such a rare guest, of course.

Papyrus finally gets his resolve and enters with a thunder of a door flung open.

All mumble in the bar dies away in an instance, like a candle blown out by a passing wind. The monsters peek at him from behind their tables. They don’t look very welcoming. Or very indebted.

The guard makes his way to the counter in the crossfire of bewildered stares. He slams his both hands into the wooden surface.

“GIVE ME SOMETHING. SOMETHING GOOD. THE FINEST SORT OF YOUR GARBAGE”.

Grillby watches him silently and goes on wiping a glass with a cloth.

Papyrus growls at him impatiently, slapping the counter a few times.

“ARE YOU DEAF OR DUMB? MOVE YOUR FIERY ASS! GIVE ME THE FOOD, NOW!!!”

Grillby turns his glasses to the skeleton. His flames creak loudly a few times.

“Grillbz says”, blubbers one of the drunkards at the counter, “that you’re not gonna get stuff till you pay the tab”.

_Excuse me?!_

“WHAT?!” Papyrus roars and turns around, bewildered, looking for signs that this is a joke, a prank, anything. “WHAT TAB?”

The bar is threateningly silent, save for the drone of fire. Monsters watch him with hostility. Grillby creaks again, now louder and somewhat derisive.

“Grillbz says, Sans’ tab”, translates the drunkard. “It’s real big. G-good luck with it”.

Papyrus feels like someone has crowned him with a frying pan. As far as he knows, Sans never had any problems with debts! He understands vaguely that he is humiliated, laughed at, - but he can’t understand how or why. Why are those losers so obstinate all of a sudden? Don’t they know of his strength? He looks at Grillby, waiting for an explanation which never comes. The fire monster considers him for a moment before lowering his eyes again.

“BUT… BUT YOU’VE NEVER ASKED _SANS_ TO PAY HIS TAB!”

Grillby creaks, makes a sign with his hand and turns another way.

“Grillbz says”, the drunkard grins, “but you’re no Sans”.

Papyrus wants to shout. He wants to scream and to break something. But - the eyes on him. But - the tense silence in the bar. He suddenly feels strangely weak. He senses that, if he is not careful, they will all storm out at him and pull him down like an avalanche, simply because he is alone, stunned and despised. They are united in their sudden hate, and they need the tension to break, this way or another.

Papyrus tightens his fists and walks away with his head low.

 

***

 

When back home, he goes to his room immediately, not even looking at the TV or in the direction of the kitchen. He shuts the door behind him and collapses on the bed, wrapping himself in blankets. He feels tired and… weak, though he won’t ever admit that last bit. He doesn’t even want to sleep that much. But just lying there in the darkness and comfort of a soft bed… It has to make him feel better. It has to.

Papyrus stays still for a minute only. Then he starts fidgeting.

There is a feeling overcoming him, like an itch that starts out small and then grows until you can’t think of anything else anymore. He tries to shut his eyes tighter, to hide in the blanket, to busy his mind with whatever else. But he can’t. He is uncomfortable, too much uncomfortable to sleep or to relax at all.

He physically can’t stay so close to Sans.

The silence is overwhelming. The darkness takes the whole house over like a tide. The cold, and the solitude, and the unsettling feeling – it is far too much to let Papyrus sleep.

He feels small. He feels like running away, for the first time in years. Maybe, if he got from this house, and from this room next door, he would feel better. But he doesn’t allow himself to. He stays in bed and rolls, and spins, and turns through the long, long night.

He doesn’t notice falling asleep.


	5. Day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nuh-oh.

On the fifth day it rockets further down.

A few days have passed, I think. On that morning Papyrus wakes up hungry and exhausted, like he didn’t sleep at all – not that it is such an uncommon thing for him as of lately. Everything is cold and dark and hostile. Getting out from the bed seems to be an impossible mission. His only desire is to hide in pillows forever. Still, he tears himself from the comfort of his bed by an exertion of willpower. This ordinary process feels like quite a feat, surprisingly. Maybe that’s because his magic sources are almost drained.

There’s almost no food left since his last shopping day, but he isn’t really bothered by it. He finds some vegetables in the fridge and nibbles on them while putting on armor. Raw onions taste terrible, but carrots and celery prove to be quite edible. His magic level slowly rises, and Papyrus feels better. Even if only slightly.

Papyrus still has that urge to go and check on Sans, and today he doesn’t really feel like fighting it. It’s nothing like yielding. He has to see if he already needs that dustbin, after all. So he gets his key and opens the door and goes inside, searching blindly for a switch.

The lamp turns on miraculously, despite all the violence done to it through the years (including the unholy act of thrusting a flashlight inside). Sans is still there. He hasn’t moved an inch. His HP has gone down to 0.5. Low enough, but not nearly as low as predicted.

Maybe it’s just the percentage? Maybe the bits lost are too small to be seen by checking?.. Or is it _that thing_ …

It is difficult to stay there, in one room with the short skeleton. Somehow, even the air smells like despair and helplessness. Papyrus can make his exit now, but, weirdly enough, he doesn’t.

He comes closer.

“HAPPY NOW? MY LIFE IS HELL. AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT”.

The room around him is an epitome of negligence. Everything is dirty, everything is cheap, and broken, and misplaced. The owner of the room is just the same. He is lying down, naked, like an abandoned ugly doll.

“IT IS ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT. BUT I GUESS THAT IS WHAT YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED, TO MAKE MY LIFE AS MISERABLE AS YOURS. I BET YOU WOULDN’T EVEN NOTICE IF IT WAS ME WHO FELL DOWN. I BET YOU WOULDN’T EVEN CARE. YOU NEVER DO. YOU NEVER DID”.

Papyrus stares at Sans for a long, long time, hugging himself. His face drops without him noticing. Then he bends down – slowly, as if against his own will - and takes the other’s hand. It hangs like a dead branch in his fingers; the feel of it is wrong, terribly wrong, but at the same time – it is _familiar_. He remembers holding to this hand during the long gone nights, when the world felt safe and simple; he remembers being dragged by that hand somewhere, from one place to another, farther and farther from what they used to call home; he remembers taking food from those fingers, and the way the claws curled protectively around every piece of bread a moment before giving it away; he remembers the feeling of this hand resting on his shoulder, or petting his head, or pulling him closer, - the feeling that used to bring him such comfort and peace.

“…DID YOU?”

It was all long ago, though. It was so long ago that it almost feels like a surreal dream. His more recent memories are not as nostalgic. He recalls being slapped by the same hand. He recalls how it hid inside a pocket or just moved away swiftly when he reached out for it. He recalls giving up on trying to reach it.

The guard shrugs and hesitates for a moment.

Then he throws Sans’ hand down with all his might. It bounces on the mattress with such momentum that the fact it doesn’t fall off is a sheer miracle.

“WELL GUESS _WHAT_!!! I DON’T CARE AS WELL!!!! I DON’T CARE AT ALL! I... I HATE YOU”.

Papyrus turns away and disappears behind the door. He feels better the moment he crosses the threshold, but he wants to run even farther, far away from that cursed room, from that lifeless house.

“…AS MUCH AS YOU HATE ME”.

 

***

 

The day is bleak and tasteless. Papyrus still wants to run away. He wants to run and hide somewhere no one will find him.

Yes, he knows that it’s childish. Yes, he knows that the problems must be dealt with head-on, and not fled away from. He hadn’t run from his problems ever since he took off the striped coat on his seventh birthday. But now he feels like running. He can do everything the _right way_ , sure, he still can, he’s still _strong_ … but he is just so _tired_. So, so _tired_. He is tired of feeling restless for no obvious reason. He is tired of the eyes on him. He wonders briefly, what has happened? Didn’t they all love him? Didn’t they all fear him? Wasn’t he an idol, an authority everyone looked up to?

No, no, he… he still _is_ an authority, it’s just… well… they surely _do_ adore him, all of them, no doubt… They just… must feel that he is all too _special_ , that’s all! They just can’t help _envying_! And at all times, idols could be loved and hated both; it’s only natural for those poor guys to feel some jealousy since they can’t get at the same level with him…

A bunny tries to sell him buns for twice the price she asked earlier, and gets him a discount only after he’s done screaming. A couple of stone monsters crawl in his way to ramble about an unpaid debt at the chemist’s. A snowball hits the tree too close to his head to consider it a coincidence. One of his puzzles is maimed, torn apart, like a crowd has run through it.

No, they must, they must still admire him, it’s just… it’s just out of humility, it is…

It is…

Papyrus wants to go home.

 

***

 

The code doesn’t work. Again.

Alphys pinches the skin between her eyes and clenches her fists a few times. She really has to concentrate, she has to finish this today… and yet she cannot.

And the fact that she cannot is her greatest source of distress.

She types another line only to find that she has slipped around some variables that do not make any sense, and, um, probably it is not a good idea to name variables after… well. It’s not like anyone will see that, with her being the only official editor of Mettaton’s code, but taking such risks is stupid and irresponsible. Taking risks _at all_ is stupid and irresponsible, and it is what gets monsters killed.

She sighs and retypes the whole line. There are lots of things that get monsters killed, of course. There are lots of things that leave you compromised, vulnerable, open to an attack. For example, if you have a weakness…

Oh! The noodles are ready.

Alphys makes a dash for the noodles and returns to the computer with the bowl in her hands. She slurps on them, eyeing the lines for mistakes. Yeah, where was I? Oh, yes. If you have a weakness, there will be someone to exploit it. If you leave a spot unprotected, there will be someone who’ll hit you there. If you show emotions, someone will find the thing that you feel most strongly about and destroy it, or take it as a bait, or use it against you. A monster is better off alone, because friends and lovers can betray you too easily. That’s how the world is; that’s what our common sense tells us.

Alphys burns her tongue on the noodles and has to breathe with her mouth open to cool it down.

Yes, the common sense, and all the lessons the life has taught her, all the experience she gathered, they have made her the way she is: a stoic, cold-hearted monster whose mask is impenetrable. A true scientist who takes the world for what it is, without displaying any emotions that may cloud her judgment. An independent, strong, and powerful being…

Alphys finds another badly-named variable among the others and sighs.

Yes, that is _exactly_ why emotions are nothing more than a nuisance. They make you do stupid things, above all else, and this is inexcusable.

She thinks. Then she stumbles away from the computer and goes down to the Real Lab, which provides a significantly better protection. She walks down a corridor, not paying attention to distorted voices behind the doors, finds a special room and locks herself there.

There are a few drawers there, as well as a collection of tapes and an old TV set. She buries her hands in one of the drawers and pulls away a yellow photo. There are three people, one tall between two short ones, all in white lab coats, all smiling at the camera.

Her claw traces a familiar face on the paper, so fresh-looking, so energetic and full of – hope? Yes, however absurd it sounds. She herself looks so very different there too. She is slightly thinner at the photo, her scales a brighter yellow, her glasses clearer. Well, they all were different, back then. Everything was.

Alphys feels an echo of a smile creep up her face and quickly puts on an uninterested expression. That time and that life are long gone. And now _they_ are gone too. From all the people in the photo, she is the only one left standing, and even she doesn’t smile anymore.

She returns the photo back to its file, exits the room, locks it behind her back and goes back to the computer and cooling noodles and the quiet, empty lab.

That's just another reason. Look where it all got them.

A monster is better off alone. Yeah.

 

 

 

 

…The code doesn’t work.

 

***

 

It feels empty, for some reason. Papyrus shrugs when thinking about it. Somehow he was always so occupied before; it was always something for him to do, from cleaning to settling some fiery dispute between the citizens. And now, now it’s all gone. That, or he is too tired to concentrate on anything.

(Maybe he’s sick? Maybe it’s just that simple?)

He still tries to get excited about the things he likes, however worn out he feels. He watches Snowdrake stumble through his maze. He gets himself to cook. He looks through the Undernet, checking Undyne’s profile and changing his status. But all those things only leave him more empty.

It’s around two o’clock when his phone rings. Papyrus snatches it immediately in agitation. His phone number is quite a difficult thing to get your hands upon, so, if he’s phoned, it’s either Undyne, Alphys, or some official, and it means an emergency in any case. No one would phone Papyrus just to ask how he is doing, of course, because who wants to risk his hearing for a reason as silly as that?

And an emergency is good. It will keep him occupied. It will give him a reason to stay as far away from Sans as possible.

Papyrus muses while listening to the usual greetings by the unknown voice over the phone. It’s not Undyne (which is a disappointment), and it’s not Alphys either (which is great), so it must be some clerk. Papyrus is instructed to head to New Home, to the tax office Sans usually visited every month or so. The guard has never been there himself, but he assumes that it can’t be that difficult to find a house.

He doesn’t frequent New Home, and now the city feels too packed and too lifeless at the same time to him. All that grey shades, all that stone without a spot of color. He isn’t too happy to travel that far, but taxes are important, and, as a responsible adult, he will have to handle them by himself from now on. That is another reason to get angry at Sans, by the way, so Papyrus arrives at the destination all worked up and grumbling like a tiny thundercloud.

Somehow his fame is not really _famous_ around here. The secretary doesn’t put aside whatever useless thing she is doing when he comes near, the security looks at him with disgust, and no one even recognizes his trademark sharp grin. Probably that’s because of Mettaton’s influence – after all, he’s a pretty big deal in the area, even the skeleton admits that. But still, Papyrus is – he is in the Royal Guard! A high position, a title and all that. Shouldn’t they at least tell _that_ from his looks?

He’s told to wait in line for some reason, and even after he shouts bloody hell in rage, nothing is really changed, save for the fact that he’s getting more funny looks when they think he’s not watching. The queue moves excruciatingly slowly, but at last he enters the tiny grey room – still not knowing why he was called there in the first place.

A huge fish monster, far too big for this place, looks at Papyrus with boredom from behind a glass wall. Two securities stand in front of him. Asgore surely takes care of his state machinery.

Papyrus sits down.

“Papyrus the skeleton, am I right?”

“YES”.

The fish squints with contempt at his not-so-indoor voice.

“Tsk. I see. Well, we have received notice of your relative’s state. Our condolences. Fill up those forms and turn them in during the next week”.

Papyrus grabs the papers given to him and moves to exit when one of the securities grabs his shoulder and presses him back. The skeleton makes a croaking sound and struggles free.

“Papyrus, sir. I’m afraid we’re not done yet”.

Papyrus stares back at the fish monster. Now their blank look is somewhat bordering with a sneer.

“WHAT ELSE? I’M A VERY BUSY SKELETON, YOU SEE!”

“Yes, I assume so”, drawls the fish. “You see, Papyrus, I have to inform you that your taxes are long overdue”.

_Ex- excuse me?.._

“WHAT?!?! NO WAY!!! WE HAVE ALWAYS PAID IN TIME AND-”

“Oh – calm down, please. You see, your household have been paying the reduced amount, but now the policy is much stricter towards those cases, so I’m afraid that you’ll have to return the difference, and continue paying the standard tax”.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!” Before the fish monster says anything, Papyrus makes a gesture for them to stop. “WAIT. GIVE ME – GIVE ME THE PAPERS. OUR PAYBILLS. YOU SHOULD STILL HAVE THEM”.

The fish rolls their eyes and calls for the secretary. She returns in a couple of minutes with a folder.

“Here you are, sir”.

Papyrus burrows in the papers immediately – and gets baffled by the numbers and lines and names that mean nothing to him. He… he has never dealt with taxes, or payments, before. Most of the money they paid was earned by him, of course, since his salary as a guard made for a huge part of their budget. But it always was Sans who handled the papers. They never talked about it: Papyrus assumed that, after all, Sans had to do at least _some_ of the work... And – and now – now he doesn’t know a thing about!.. -

Ok. Ok. It’s fine. It’s all fine. After all, it’s _Great Papyrus_ we’re talking about. He’ll surely find a way, he’ll do it all perfectly. He has heard- yes, he knows the numbers Sans mentioned once or twice. What’s with this column? It must be… dates. Yes. Good. And this, this one – is it the sums of payments? Good, good…

“WAIT A SECOND… THAT IS NOT WHAT WE’VE BEEN PAYING!!! THE NUMBERS ARE LARGER THAN THEY SHOULD BE!!!”

“Ah, yes. It seems that a mistake occurred in the system, and you’ve been asked for less. However, we can’t keep shutting our eyes to this problem. You owe us… actually, let me count”. The fish smiles wide now, writing a number down and then showing a paper to Papyrus. “You should probably start saving”.

Papyrus sits stunned, numb and wide-eyed, gaping at the piece of paper. That’s… that’s _a lot_ of money. He has never seen so many zeroes in one place. He doesn’t even know if they have that much gold at home, or if their belongings all together would cover the bill. He feels weak and helpless again, just like then at Grillby’s. And he hates that. And he does what he always does when cornered: he bites.

“I… I WON’T PAY A _NICKLE_ MORE THAN I’VE BEEN PAYING ALL THOSE YEARS!!! IF YOU MADE A MISTAKE THEN IT’S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM!!! AND IF YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST UP AND DEMAND MONEY FROM A ROYAL GUARDSMAN, THEN…”

He doesn’t notice standing up and summoning his magic; however, it is noticed by someone else. In a blink of an eye the securities round him, scowling.

“Ah. Ah. _Ah_ ”, says the fish, looking at Papyrus with amusement. It seems that they’ve been waiting for him to do something like that. “Threatening an official? That’s enough for an execution, you know”.

All the magic dies down immediately.

“I do not want to get you killed, though – no. But that is _certainly_ going into your record. I’ll personally see to it”.

The skeleton gnashes his teeth but says nothing. The only reason the monsterkind hasn’t perished yet is that, under Asgore’s laws, a person can cause much more trouble dead than alive.

“A _Royal Guard_ , so…” The fish isn’t done yet. Not even close. “You think that it is something big? Well, maybe it _is_ so wherever you’re coming from, and your fancy armor _does_ catch some glances around your Snooty Grave or Hauntedsville…”

“YOU KNOW VERY WELL THAT I COME FROM SNOWDIN”, Papyrus growls powerlessly.

“Ah. My bad. _Snowdin_ ”, the fish sneers. “Well, anyway – it’s not such a miracle in the _big city_. Yes, you’ve got a nice title and some dark look, and your salary is higher than the mountain itself, but, see, at the end you are the same government workers we all are. Just your job is a lot dirtier. We in New Home treat you guardsmen like cleaners, and I think it’s fair. After all, you _are_ no better than a cleaner. It’s just that you deal with a different kind of dust”.

Papyrus stands up with a roar, but the securities quickly remind him of his manners. He struggles desperately, trying to save the remains of his dignity.

“Mind yourself, please”, smiles the fish to him. “We don’t want an accident around here, with all those witnesses, do we?”

The skeleton stills… and slowly sags back into the chair. A familiar numbness creeps up on him.

“…WHY DIDN’T YOU ASK FOR THE MONEY BEFORE? DOES IT HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH…”

The fish monster gives him the widest grin he’s ever seen.

“Well. I may admit, we did treat you differently before, due to a sort of… a personal agreement, which has _expired_ lately, I’m afraid”.

Papyrus can only nod at this point.

 

***

 

He returns home exhausted, both physically and mentally. The messy mailbox in front of the house is squinted at, but left untouched. The armor is dropped right on the floor; the dirt and snow from his boots leave huge ugly stains on the doormat. Absentmindedly he searches through his caches and hiding places, even though he knows long before collecting the gold he has put by for a rainy day: it’s not enough.

He stares at the pile of gold on the table. In truth, he doesn’t really care about it. He doesn’t care about anything at this moment, except, maybe…

His eyes slide up again, stopping at Sans’ door. Now, when he’s back home, he can feel the heavy, unsettling feeling overcome him. But he doesn’t think about it. He stares and suddenly feels the need to go there. To check on Sans. To hide behind Sans. To shout at Sans. To slap him, and tell him how much Papyrus hates him, and to shake him until he…

Papyrus shakes his head and goes on to checking the bills again, and then counting the money. It’s not like it will help, anyway. But maybe he just needs that. Maybe he just needs to put that final nail in the coffin by himself. He won’t give anyone else an opportunity to.

He counts, and he checks, and the total is predictable. He is broke. Completely and utterly broke.

Papyrus feels like he should be disappointed, but he isn’t – at least, not as much as he is supposed to. It is almost like he has been waiting for something like that to happen. He looks at the bills and feels like a pageant whose crops were savaged by a thunderstorm. So he goes to his room and throws himself onto the bed.

And a terrible day gives way to a terrible night.

 

***

 

He is exhausted beyond belief and yet… and yet he can’t sleep. Not now. Not here.

Not in this house.

The feeling that was present throughout the day (and the days before) is now in full force. The light and the noise are no longer dissolving it. It is dark and silent. And no one, no thing can help you. Nothing can help that feeling of helplessness, of a child in front of a Boogieman, of a skier facing the avalanche. Nothing can make it stop.

Papyrus lies awake, trying to keep his eyes shut. The itch is back, now bigger than ever. He can’t sleep, he can’t think about anything. His mind is numbed by Sans’ presence of the other side of a wall. Papyrus can sense that presence almost physically, like a tingle. Like a prick.

Hours march by. The house creaks softly.

There is a thick wall between their rooms. It blocks most sounds, from restless murmur to furious screams. Yet Papyrus sometimes believes that he can hear Sans breathing, and sometimes he believes he can’t, and sometimes he believes that in the quiet crackling of wood he can tell the rustle of a body turning to dust.

He tells himself it’s impossible and stupid.

Then in a blink he listens greedily again, trying to hear what is going on behind the wall.

Papyrus fidgets for long sleepless hours. He suddenly imagines that in the morning he will enter Sans’ room only to find a mattress covered with silver foam. What a neat way to die! Papyrus will have to work a bit afterwards, of course, but no real trouble. At the end, he _does_ like cleaning up...

Papyrus jerks himself from his bed and rushes out, escaping the silent cursed house. He doesn’t bother to put on his armor or to lock the door. He needs some fresh air, after all; it was so stuffed in his room. Well, most probably it was. He can’t remember. He can’t really remember and he forbids himself to think of it as of an excuse.

He jogs through the night. The damp snow is high, up to his knee. It sticks to him in large heavy chunks and slides inside his boots, drowning his feet bones in half-melted squishy mass.

Papyrus thinks about it angrily. He runs through the forest and feels irritated at the feeling of snow in his boots. Oh, it’s so cold. Oh, how uncomfortable it is. Oh, great, he is getting water in his joints and this is terrible. Irritation and anger, aren’t those the right things for him to feel in a situation like this?..

It doesn’t matter, though. As long as he is moving his legs and thoughts, he is able to avoid _him_. But it is impossible to ignore everything for long. He doesn’t look where he is going, he is running so fast that it is inevitable, and finally –

he stumbles over a stone and falls.

He rolls down a slope, caught in a tiny avalanche of snow and dirt, until he crashes into a stone. His leg flares with pain. He hisses a curse or two, but then he stops flailing and falls silent.

And then he suddenly remembers _him_ once more, with crystal clarity: the silent, pathetic, horrifying living corpse in the house he left behind.

He would cope with it, for sure. He is strong, after all, - so very strong and scary. But suddenly he is lying in the dirt, and his leg hurts like hell because he must have dislocated his ankle, and there is snow in all his joints - and in his skull too - and it is so cold, and _Sans is dying back home_ , and suddenly everything is just _too much_.

He clenches on to himself, curling in the snow. Because of cold, of the pain or whatever else, his whole body starts shuddering. He forbids himself to think, to understand what is going on to him. He closes his eyes and clasps his head in an impulse. He doesn’t understand anything. He doesn’t want to. It is all so messed up. _He_ is so messed up. Everything hurts. Everything is not okay.

He wonders distantly. If one morning they found two piles of dust instead of just one, would anyone give a care?..

…Finally he finds the strength to walk back home. He moves with a limp, but at least he doesn’t shake that much anymore. Snow is falling from his clothes. If the snowmen were still around, they would take him for their fellow without any hesitation. But they have been eaten long ago (it was a hungry year), so the stupid dirty skeleton remains a stupid dirty skeleton with no chance to pass his appearance off as a masquerade.

Papyrus stumbles inside. He forgets to take the snow off, and the carpet is covered with puddles. That gets him mad for a second. Then his eyes accidentally slide to the locked door upstairs, and his anger fades unto cold nothing. Then he pulls his eyes down and stares at the puddles and tries to feel angry again.

He doesn’t succeed.

Papyrus eats something to regenerate, goes to his bedroom and spends another restless eternity there. In the end, he gives up. For the second time today, he turns the key in the lock (feeling weirdly guilty all of a sudden) and enters the twilight room. And Sans is still there. His bones look quite all right; his soul glows a wavering unsteady grey. He keeps holding on to his HP, an exact amount of 0.4 by now. How much longer can this last?

Papyrus returns to his room and falls asleep.


	6. Day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we serve: extra salt, extra fish, pink poison and murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: character death, mild body horror, sex mentioned (but not meant).

On the sixth day Papyrus wakes up still tired.

He walks past Sans’ door without looking at it twice. He gets clad in his armor and frowns from the weight sagging on his shoulders. His leg still feels kind of funny, and a sharp pain shoots through it when he’s putting on a boot, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it. After all, a warrior should be able to ignore such minor inconveniences.

You may think it’s just Papyrus being an emo teen masochist who enjoys fussing over his torment, but it’s not like that, _yeah_. He certainly doesn’t want to have an aching leg to excuse his terrible mood. He doesn’t like to feel strong by fighting his pain. Maybe that’s why he goes immediately to a healer, takes a day off, rests properly and eats a whole lot of food to get his health back up top.

…What? He didn’t do that?

Well. He must have a very good reason for it, right? After all, it’s _Great Papyrus_ we’re talking about. He is _completely perfect_ , isn’t he?

When he walks outside, though, there is a surprise waiting for him in his mailbox: a pink package. He pulls it away and smuggles it guiltily into the house. No one has to see his Pretty Poison so early on. After all, a trap is no trap if you already know what’s coming, right?

The pink glittery package is torn off in a matter of seconds. The cardboard box meets the same fate. Mettaton smiles brightly at him from the booklet inside. He breathes in. And then there it is: a large semitransparent bottle of brownish liquid. It feels cold and heavy… and surprisingly _real_. And just to think of it, of all the plates of oatmeal waiting for fools to taste them! Of all the even-more-deadly spikes, of mazes made impassable by poisonous treats in the corners! Of the terror he will instill, of the admiration his skills will bring on!

Papyrus stares at the bottle and suddenly has a small feeling deep inside.

He is… excited?..

It is small, almost unnoticeable, and it fades away really quickly. He tries desperately to ignite it but fails. He is left numb and disappointed. But, besides the numbness… there is something else now.

Maybe… _maybe things are finally coming back to normal, after all_?...

(I mean, just maybe? Only a fool would clutch at a straw that tiny, but sometimes- sometimes it feels better to be a fool.)

Anyway, Papyrus doesn’t have much time to drool over his new present. He tosses the bright packaging in the bin and puts the much desired bottle on a shelf. And the day goes on.

This time, the stares are mostly gone. He still receives a fair share of accusatory side glances, but those are common – those have always been there, since the day he joined the Guard. (For some reason, if people think they are _very_ oppressed and you are slightly _less so_ , they will always treat you like _you_ are the oppressor.) Somebody bows at him; somebody makes way for him… Things look like they really _are_ returning to normalcy, and maybe his mood lifts just a smidge higher.

Then he meets the dogs as usual. They make sure to destroy his excitement completely, of course. In a minute, he finds himself drowning in their growls, and the thick smell of fur, and the discussion of their petty problems (as if _those_ were _problems_!). Lesser Dog somehow gets in a fight with Doggo, and Greater Dog ends up in the crossfire. Papyrus has to calm them down, but… He doesn’t really feel like caring about it all anymore. But he’s still got a role to play. And he scowls at them as earnestly as he can manage.

But they look at him in a way that shows they don’t really believe that scowl anymore.

He feels his control over them slipping, and he screams and summons his bones…

And –  
then –   
Lesser Dog –   
bursts up –   
snatches a bone of his –   
and _runs away_ , barking contentedly!

Papyrus blinks once, twice, stupefied to the point he doesn’t even move to attack the fleeing canine. The blue and white bones hover in the air, glowing subtly. It’s silent for a moment.

Then the dogs start barking.

They bark in loud, high voices, turning to each other, meeting each other’s eyes. Papyrus looks at them helplessly. It’s impossible to tell what they are saying, unless they concede and translate themselves. Are they shaming Lesser Dog? Are they praising his bravery? The excitement in their eyes, is it spite? Is it impudence? Is it just their thirst for more bones? Are they scared? Are they happy?

“SHUT UP!”

They keep barking.

“I SAID, SHUT UP!!! DID I FUCKING STUTTER?!?!”

They keep barking.

“SHUT UP, OR ELSE!..”

They don’t stop. Is it deafness? Is it disobedience? Is it a _riot_?

“OR ELSE!!!..”

They don’t stop.

Then - a low growling sound rises above their heads, like a hum of a nearing thunderstorm (even though none of them has ever heard a real thunder). The dogs raise their heads and immediately drop to the ground.

“ _OR ELSE_ ”, says Papyrus, clenching his fists, cloaked in the reddish glow of a Blaster, “I WILL _BLAST THROUGH_ YOUR SORRY HEADS AND _DAZE YOUR BRAINS OFF_ AND MAKE _CONFECTIONARY_ OUT OF IT AND SELL IT TO LOCALS AND!..”

The dogs are already running, before they could hear the end of it. Papyrus grinds his teeth and dissipates the Blaster. Finally they got the message. Just in time. He was really close to filling those papers about the death of a subordinate. Yeah. Good that they learned some common sense after all.

…Oh, poor old Paps. He is such a _terrible_ liar.

Honestly… honestly, he is a bit disappointed that he didn’t get to fight.

He is tired of feeling weak and helpless. He is tired of holding it in. And he just wants to SNAP! He wants to let it all OUT, and BURST, and ATTACK, and BEAT, and BEAT and BEAT – BEAT – BEAT until he can’t feel anything anymore! And those dogs being sissies, well, it _is_ good in a sense, but oh boy, he really wants to let it all out on someone.

(But hey, not that it would end too bad, right?)

 

***

 

Papyrus edits the report, as always. While he’s thinking over the paper, his eyes travel from the bottle on the kitchen shelf to the pink paper in the bin, and the same shy feeling of excitement sparks inside him for a second. He still is angry, and tired, and anxious, but also there is a ray of something he does not dare name.

_Maybe it’s going to get better? Maybe everything will revert to normal, and they all will be just the way they were before? All the way back to square one, he will start again, and become the same Papyrus he was, and everything, everything will be okay once more?.._

(Ah, Papyrus. Such a bad liar, can’t even deceit himself.)

He takes the papers and fetches the trash bag on his way to the door (the literal trash bag, and not the trouble-maker lying upstairs).

A trip to the garbage cans is short. The street is empty. He dumps the bag right into the can without looking. A piece of pink papers slips out, whirls in the air and lands on the snow softly. Papyrus turns around to pick it up and-

“Oh, look, what’s this?”

There are a tall bunny and a stone monster near him, both looking pretty tough. They peek over the cans, staring at the wrapper with delight.

“IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. NOW GET LOST”.

The monsters stay stone-still (if you said that aloud, at least one of them would call you a racist). They exchange quick sly glances.

“Hey, we are not doing anything! Just wondering”.

“GO AND WONDER SOMEWHERE ELSE. WELL, OF COURSE THERE WILL BE MUCH _LESS_ TO WONDER AT, WITHOUT MY SPECTACULAR FIGURE IN SIGHT! BUT I THINK THAT YOUR CHANCES TO BE DISEMBOWELED WILL DECREASE DRAMATICALLY”.

“Oh, kind sir”, the bunny says, winking at their stone friend. “I don’t think they’ll praise you on killing some guys who weren’t doing anything bad”.

Papyrus squints at them hard.

“I COULD ALWAYS SAY YOU WERE SPYING, OR DISOBEYED AN ORDER. WHICH IS ACTUALLY WHAT YOU ARE DOING RIGHT NOW!!!”

“Hey, hey”. The bunny lifts their hands. “We don’t mean no harm. Just being funny. Is it punishable? Oh, wait. I guess it _is_ ”.

“A MINUTE MORE AND I WILL REPORT YOUR DEATH AS _SUICIDE_ , CAUSE CLEARLY THAT’S WHAT YOU MUST WANT”.

The bunny slams their fists in a garbage can. It rumbles like a tiny avalanche coming down.

“Oh, _of course_. You talk all bossy, cause you sure know _a lot_ about death, yeah? Oh hey, what’s this?” They reach out, quick as lightning, grab the pink wrapper and wave it victoriously. “Wow, someone around here must have a real big liking for pinky sweety stuff! Don’t your eyes hurt from all the glitter? Oh, my bad, you don’t have any _eyes_ ”.

“AND YOU DON’T HAVE ANY COMMON SENSE, OBVIOUSLY”.

Papyrus tries hard to play it cool, but he feels his demeanor slipping. His sneer is too pointy, his nonchalance is too puffed up. He feels like his every word is a dead giveaway. There is a tiny volcano growing inside of him, larger and larger every second, until…

The bunny looks at him, clenching the paper close to their chest. The stone monster suddenly whines and tries to leave quietly, but the bunny snarls at them and shoves them back into place.

“And look what is it”, the bunny scowls. “MTT-brand, huh? No kidding. A nice present from one drama queen to another”. They ignore Papyrus’ red face and curled fists. It is their last chance to flee, but they don’t know it – and they won’t ever know. “What was it, a sex-toy? I bet you needed a replacement, after your old one _died down_ and got too _dusty_ to use, and!..”

The bunny does not get to say anything else. Their feet are suddenly pierced and nailed to the ground by a dozen of bones. The bunny makes a funny noise, which is half cough and half surprised gasp, and doubles over from the pain. They manage to breathe in for one last time and let out a shivery, rustling whine, vaguely resembling a cry for help. Then a hail of bones fall on them from above, tearing them, ripping apart, grinding to dust, hitting, mincing, turning them into a heap of dust in a matter of seconds.

The stone monster squeals in terror and makes a feeble attempt to crawl away. A bone hits them hard, knocking them out, and the stone meets a less terrible fate than their pal: a Blaster vaporizes them in an instant while they are still unconscious.

Papyrus breathes hard, his magic still flaring, his body still tense. The street is empty. No one opened a window, no one peered from a door. It’s quiet again. Two piles of dust in front of Papyrus’ house slowly disappear, floating away with the passing wind.

His magic dies away with a sizzle. The additional EXP tugs onto his soul like something foul and sickly. He has long forgotten how it feels to kill.

Papyrus takes in a deep, deep breath, turns around and walks back home.

…Damn it, now he has to rewrite that report.

 

***

 

“So, apparently it was a double-suicide?”

Undyne sits on top of a rock, swinging her legs in the air, and looks now Papyrus, now the report with the curiosity of a entomologist in front of a unique specimen.

“I DISCOVERIED THAT THEIR FAMILIES WERE AGAINST THEIR LIAISON”.

“Ah, _yes_ , that ancient war between bunnies and stones”, Undyne says almost affectionately. “I’ve heard about it”.

A silence falls. Papyrus waits, uncertain whether he should say anything else. Undyne keeps smiling at the report with amusement. Water clinks somewhere softly, and the hum of the river can be heard in the distance, echoing between the cavern walls.

“So, Papyrus”, the Captain smiles once again, wider than before. “I think you’re burned out”.

And Papyrus is stunned – again. (No, but really, that’s becoming a habit. He should’ve probably gotten used to being surprised, but no, it’s the same every time: mouth agape, eyes bulging, so shocked he can’t even move or talk! _Pathetic_.)

Undyne jumps off the rock, comes nearer and pats Papyrus on the shoulder gently.

“You should probably take a day off”, she says in a confidential tone. “Or maybe a week off. You know what – actually, make it a month. No need to hurry”.

Papyrus stares at her.

“W-WHAT?.. BUT – BUT WHY?!?!..”

“Papyrus, you are drowning pretty quick”, Undyne smiles, and that sweet smile looks far more frightening than a sneer. “You’ve threatened a guy in New Home. I myself don’t think it’s a big deal, and those city jerks are all better off dead as for me, but you know how it is, _huh_. And now those two fellows. I hear you - I _hear you_ , it was a suicide and all that. But you know what, Papyrus? I know you all too well. I bet it was _you_ who killed them off. I bet if I get to look at the place, I will find there bone chips and cinder. And all that sudden increase in EXP? I mean, I guess you _can_ explain how you got at least a part of it, but it’s simply too much”.

“BUT!..”

“You made them _very_ angry, Papyrus. We all have enemies, I guess, but you’re just too good at making them. Well, at least there’s _something_ you’re good at… And that’s it. I don’t want you to wander around here. Besides…” She points at Papyrus’ leg with her chin. “You look like you could do with a little break. Did you slip on the ice, or something?”

She laughs.

“Oh, come on, it’s funny. Because, you know. Snowdin. Ice. Got it?”

“B-BUT!!!..”

“No ‘buts’, sergeant. That’s an order. You will go home and sit there for as long as I say. If a say a day, it’s a day. If I say a month, it’s a month. If I say forever…” A shrug. “See the pattern?”

Papyrus struggles for air. (Remember when it was said, somewhere up above, that he looked like a wet puppy? Yes, that’s just like he looks again. No, really, have you ever seen a drowning blind miserable puppy? If not, you should probably try to imagine it. The resemblance is almost perfect.)

“YOU CAN’T JUST ORDER ME AROUND LIKE SOME ORDINARY GUY!!!”

“Why not?”

“B-BECAUSE I AM _EXTRA_ ORDINARY!!! YOU ENTRUSTED ME WITH A WHOLE AREA!!! I AM SUPERIOR, I AM STRONG, I AM SKILLED, AND GIFTED, AND ENCHANTING, AND _SPECIAL_ – TO EVERYONE, TO YOU - I ALWAYS WAS, I AM _VERY_ SPECIAL, I HAS ALWAYS _BEEN_ -…”

“Papyrus, Papyrus, Papyrus”.

She sings it, shaking her head slightly. She looks strangely satisfied, as if she was waiting for a moment like this. And her tone, her eyes – they are same as Grillby’s, same as that fish monster’s, same as those he saw and heard from the crowds back home.

“I’ve got dozens of subordinates, Papyrus. _Dozens_. Most of them, the best of them, serve at New Home, where it’s more crowded and the chance of an incident – an uprising, perhaps – is higher. The only reason I got you to handle Snowdin alone is that it’s such a teeny weeny quiet place that it probably would do fine without any supervision at all. And yep, you are pretty strong. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t even let you apply for the position at all. But _skilled_? _Gifted_? Nah. You haven’t even had to deal with anything bigger than a playful puppy”.

“BUT…”

He makes a small stop, as if he was running and had to catch his breath.

“BUT… DON’T _YOU_ HOLD ME SPECIAL?..”

Undyne tilts her head to one side and comes a bit closer.

“Well… No one is irreplaceable, Papyrus”, she says with a smile. “No one. Especially you. _Especially_ you”.

Papyrus watches, and his rage is wordless and desperate. He feels like he is shattered, cracked. Does dusting feel like that? Does death feel as terrible as this?

He roars and attacks.

A row of bones flies towards Undyne – she dodges them with a little difficulty, since she’s too close. She jumps a few paces back at once, though, and the next attack doesn’t even graze the ground near her feet.

“Is it all you got? I think your EXP made you worse rather than better”.

Papyrus doesn’t listen, doesn’t think. He is cornered. And all he knows is fight.

It hurts.

Undyne dances between his bones, skips over them, glides around them. Nothing hurts her ever. She stands with her back to the rock to prevent any sneak attacks.

“I can see your limp even from here”.

Papyrus breathes heavily. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Sweat drips down his brow, round his eyesockets. It hurts. It hurts.

Another row, another pattern. Undyne has seen it before. She dodges it with eyes closed… but opens them in time to see a blue bone coming at her at great speed from sideways. She freezes to let the magic go through her. But at the moment she stops moving, a whole forest of blue bones grows through her body, piercing her to the rock behind her back.

Undyne coughs and stills.

“Is… it all you got?”

Papyrus prepares a bone. Weights it in his hand.

And throws it straight into Undyne’s neck.

The warrior averts her eyes out of sheer instinct. She is prepared for pain, for feeling of quick blood loss ( _when you are struck, struck through, and there is a huge hole, hole in your body, everything darkens and reddens at once, you are struck, struck, **struck**_ ), but they don’t come. The bone hits the stone just to the side of her exposed neck, leaving a deep scratch on it.

The blue bones disappear. Papyrus takes a shivery breath and almost collapses, clinging to the wall to keep his balance. His magic is drained. His mind is numb. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Undyne makes a show of dusting herself off. She touches the scratch and looks at the blood on her fingers.

“Look at you. I didn’t even have to attack you to bring you down – you managed to do everything yourself. I guess… you just don’t have it in you, at the end. You just _don’t_ ”.

Water drops softly somewhere.

“Now go. I’ll take your impudence as a sign that you cracked not only your leg, but also your skull. That may take an even longer recovery time. So don’t hurry. It’s not like your absence will ruin anything”.

Papyrus can’t even look at her. He stumbles to the exit, head low, fists no longer clenched.

“Oh, by he way”, she calls him in a perfectly normal tone, as if nothing happened. “Do you need help with cleaning up? I can send somebody if you do”.

A pause.

“…WHY WOULD I?”

“Well, you _do_ have to get rid of the dust, it can be real clingy. Or did you manage to do it yourself?”

The skeleton has to stare at her hard before understanding.

“N… NO. I DON’T NEED HELP YET. SANS HASN’T DUSTED YET”.

It’s Undyne’s turn to stare at him with round eyes.

“ _Hasn’t dusted_?.. No, I mean… yeah, but… but… why didn’t you-” She stops and sighs. “Ah, well. It doesn’t really matter. What are you waiting for? Go and enjoy your break”.

Papyrus lingers for a second, as if he was waiting for some reassurance, for her to laugh and to tell him it was all a huge joke. Then he slowly walks away, dragging his injured leg. It feels like everything around him, and he himself too, is splinting and crumbling and falling to the ground.

It hurts.

It hurts.

 

It hurts.

 

***

 

When Papyrus returns home – slowly, slowly, trying to avoid pain as much as possible – it is already dark.

His leg is worse than before, maybe from all the movement. He pulls himself up the stairs to his room. He takes off his armor: for an indefinite amount of time, it seems. He stares long and hard at the metal plates before shoving them into his closet. Somehow, the act doesn’t feel weird, even though he’s never treated his armor this way before. It is like a closure: something that sums up all that has happened.

He turns off the lights and locks his door behind himself.

For a moment, it’s silent.

Then the door opens again, he goes out and hobbles to Sans’ room.

Papyrus unlocks the door and takes a step inside. Empty wrappers rustle beneath his feet. He goes to Sans’ mattress, looks down at the lifeless skeleton. And kneels down on the floor next to him, with his bad leg bent in a weird way to avoid hurting it more.

“SANS”.

It feels weird to talk to someone who doesn’t respond. But probably not weirder than to shout at them.

“SANS… I…”

He reaches out. His fingers hover above Sans’ hand. What will he do? Will he slap it? Will he hold it?

He hesitates for a moment and draws back his hand. For now.

“IT’S… NOT LIKE I CARE ABOUT YOU. AND IT’S NOT LIKE I _NEED_ YOU. AND, WELL. NOT LIKE _YOU_ NEED ME. WAIT, OF COURSE YOU DO! BECAUSE, IF NOT FOR ME, YOU WOULD BE DUST… WELL. I GUESS YOU WOULD BE DUST _SOONER_? UGH. ANYWAY.

“I MEAN, IT’S NOT LIKE WE REALLY NEED EACH OTHER. I HAD YEARS TO LEARN THAT. AND I CAN SURVIVE ON MY OWN JUST FINE, I SWEAR! BUT WITH YOU LIKE… _THIS_ , IT IS MUCH LESS CONVENIENT. IT IS HARDER TO… CONCENTRATE ON IMPORTANT TASKS. YEAH. THAT IS THE ONLY REASON. _YE-EAH_. SO…

“…I ALWAYS… REQUIRE YOU TO BEHAVE, RIGHT? I REQUIRE YOU TO CARRY OUT ORDERS. SO…”

He ruffles up like an angry bird, hugging his own knees.

 “…IT’S… IT’S HIGH TIME YOU WOKE UP, SANS!!!”

Somehow it doesn’t sound like an order. More like, a desperate squeak.

“S… SANS!!! GET UP THIS INSTANT! I SWEAR, IF YOU DON’T, SOMEONE IN THIS HOUSE IS GONNA BE DUSTED, AND IT… YOU KNOW… IT IS NOT GONNA BE _ME_ … SANS. WAKE UP”.

He sits there, small, pitiful, talking to someone who can’t even hear, as his world slowly falls apart all around him. What could you say about him? What could you say to him?

“WAKE UP!!!”

Sans doesn’t answer.

“WAKE UP!..”

Sans doesn’t move.

“WAKE UP…”

But it is so silent.

“P-PLEASE…”

 

 

 

But nobody comes to his call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure: no, there is no fontcest here. Nope. Nuh huh. It's just a speculation made by a pissed off bunny in the heat of the moment. (And I am serious right here. I don't mind occasional sin, but it's not the case here.)


	7. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's special: baby steps served in unethical experiments, suffering and quick noodles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure: even though the 'days' may not come strictly one after another, they still go in order. Day 2 goes after day 1, and day 3 comes after day 2, and so on.

On the seventh day Papyrus wakes up to see the ceiling.

Nothing weird in that, you may say. Well, there _is_ nothing weird in seeing _your own_ ceiling when you open your eyes. The thing is, when you can’t find the cracks you remember, or the shade of white paint is a little wrong, or the lamp is suddenly not where it should be, than you start suspecting something is wrong.

After a quick examination Papyrus understands that he is lying on a coach downstairs.

That is honestly strange, but, taking into account everything that happened earlier (and if you have forgotten it already, you’d better go reread the last fifty pages), - it is not the strangest thing that could happen. At this point, it doesn’t even ignite a spark of interest in the skeleton. Instead, he sits on the coach, pulling his knees to his chest.

The pillows creak quietly under Papyrus’ weight. It is still dark. Objects lack depth and reality, the shades spread until they lose all resemblance to the things they belong to; everything is twisted, and inside-out, and changed past being recognizable. Maybe it’s just the dark. Maybe it’s a bit of self-projecting.

“…OKAY”, he says, and his own voice doesn’t sound very familiar to him. “OKAY. OKAY”.

Nothing feels the way it used to. For a moment, it is almost like he is not fully there – like he is watching himself from behind a bad glass – but then he hugs himself, and the coach creaks just as it always does, and he is here.

“OKAY”, he says.

He is here. Even if “here” doesn’t feel like itself. Even if he doesn’t feel like himself. He is here.

“OKAY”.

He is here.

“OKAY”.

 

***

  
It slow, very slow; baby steps.

(But don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, it’s time for a certain skeleton to actually do something? No? Well, it certainly is.)

The exhaustion tastes bitter, and the pain is still there. But Papyrus finally stands up, turns the lights on and finds a brush. It’s not much. It’s not a great feat. But it is something. As long as you keep moving, you can go somewhere, even if the baby steps you’re taking are a bit too much babyish.

Every movement is taxing. Every minute the urge to return to bed grows stronger. And yet he doesn’t give in. He swipes with so much determination that he would probably break the barrier, was it to get in the way of his cleaning. The dust soars upwards in magnificent clouds, the dirt is scraped off the carpet. What if it is half-hearted? What if it’s half-assed? What if in ten minutes Papyrus falls back on the coach, more tired than ever?

It is better than nothing at all.

Cleaning up takes his whole day, almost. He puts the gold (which has simply lied on the table ever since he counted it) back to the caches where it belongs. He tries his best to wash the floor – and the carpet – and throw away the empty packages from the fridge. (It may sound like an easy task for you, yeah. But imagine doing housework with deadweights chained to your legs.)

( _And_ your arms.)

(After a week of starvation.)

(Underwater.)

(Getting the idea?)

Sooner or later, the house looks a bit cleaner than it was before. At this point, Papyrus is almost choking out of exhaustion. But all that movement is like a shower to him: it is refreshing. And it finally tears him away from his apathy.

It makes him think.

Also it makes him want to bang his head on the wall.

Why did he waste so much time not doing anything? That is so not like him. He should’ve acted sooner! He should’ve done so much! Probably, if he didn’t wallow in misery, he wouldn’t drop so low!

While he is sweeping, he thinks hard about his options. He doesn’t have that many, of course, and it actually hurts to think about some things. But still, still. His situation needs to be considered carefully. He has to plan everything on his own.

He never had to do it before, with Sans.

It is no fun to end up broke, of course. But probably he can find a smaller house with cheaper bills? He can’t even bring up the thought of moving away at the moment, but it is something. And the bills, well. Maybe he can make them cut down his debt? He will have to study the papers again, to find possible inconsistencies. Also – the groceries. He seems to fall out of the habit of weekly shopping. Probably a schedule would help him remember what to buy and when. And speaking of Undyne and her orders, well. He probably has to do what she says. He _did_ behave foolishly at that office, after all. Messing with the bigwigs rarely gets you anywhere rather than in trouble.

Papyrus sighs.

What is up with all those monsters? All behaving like Sans was anything extraordinary. Getting him discounts and special offers, crowding around him… Maybe they were trying to get closer to Papyrus through him? Maybe? Maybe…

He rubs his forehead, leaning on his brush. In a sense, it feels… nice, to sort everything out like this. Of course he had his responsibilities before – an awful lot of them – but only now he understands that some things eluded his attention. Unforgivable! And now, when he has the whole picture, he feels like… like…

Like an independent person?

It is hard, of course. And at the same time he wishes he never had to deal with things like this. With choices like this. But, ironically, he doesn’t have a choice in _that_ matter.

Papyrus fights the urge to return to the coach with another sweep.

He… well, there’s no point in lying, he doesn’t want Sans to dust. Not now. He wants some answers out of him. And he wants him to continue paying the bills, because it is hard to survive with only the Guard’s salary, as high as it is, when you are used to a certain level of luxury. And he wants him to…

…it’s hard to explain what he wants him to do exactly.

Nevermind.

Okay. To think logically, normal healers won’t do much about this. Asgore almighty, even _paranormal_ healers wouldn’t do much about a fallen down monster. But…

But?...

Hm.

Papyrus sweeps one last time, then throws the broom aside with a sense of accomplishment and searches for his phone. Having to talk to Alphys for the second time in a week sounds like a bad joke, but Papyrus can’t ignore the fact that she has more experience with fallen monsters than anyone else.

But oh, if only it could be anyone else!..

 

***

 

…Alphys disapproves.

Of course, she has to tell him her thoughts on the matter. As _hesitant_ she is to give him some stupid hope, after half an hour of ambiguous warnings and denials she finally admits that yes, fallen monsters were known to wake up before. The occurrences were terribly rare and far apart, and they all were stronger monsters with more HP, so it is not much, really…   
and of course his hopes soar higher than the stars at the point.

Of course, she has to explain her theory that maybe falling down is tied to loss of Determination, and maybe this is why depressed monsters go down the quickest (she needs to take a long pause here and there in this sentence), and maybe, if they bid enough time, the chances of Sans waking up will be higher, as miniscule as they are. And even if he _doesn’t_ wake up, - well, the longer he is around, the more time Papyrus has to make peace with it (Alphys never says that one thought aloud).   
And of course the skeleton starts screaming at her in agitation to drop all of her business and do something, right away, no matter what and why and how.

Of course, she _has_ to mention _that option_ to Papyrus, - it is her job after all, - and she instantly regrets it.

And of course Papyrus clings to the idea immediately.

She finds it all ridiculous and doesn’t hesitate to voice that opinion. No, not that it is impossible. It is just _stupid_. A scientifically-proven way of suicide. And not that she is scared to run a test or to perform a not-so-ethical experiment. She just sees no point in doing so. Why? She has already studied the process well; nothing else could be learnt about the matter.

Well, save for the fact that the great and flawless Papyrus has some issues, obviously.

Monsters have always thought about how to prolong their lives, and rarely by legal means. HP donation is one of those that edge on unacceptable. Not many monsters would give their life energy away willingly, so in those rare cases it comes down to donation it is more of “suck the loser dry” than of “share a little, care a little”. And even then – the whole procedure is shaky and deficient. It is hard to raise the HP even by twenty or thirty percent above the monster’s natural amount. The current level of technology makes it impossible to pump HP from host to host directly; it needs to be neutralized and adjusted for a specific monster type first. And the percentage of loss throughout the process is, how to put it mildly, disturbing.

To cut the story short, it is a very, very, _very_ bad idea.

Alphys tries to beat this simple truth into the guard. She stuffs Papyrus with the facts twice, thrice and - whatever comes after thrice – many times in a row. No avail. And at last she puts up with his stubbornness. It’s not like it was her business, even. It is all in the waiver she got him to agree to sign. She will get paid. She will get his silence for ever. Even in case of failure, no one is going to take avenge on her for a murder attempt or anything. Why should she even bother?

Yet Alphys can’t help but nurture a little sly thought. The thought is hidden safely behind her glasses, as much as everything else, but it is still there. And when she finally hangs up and lets it sprout… well. The lizard feels like somebody blew a bomb inside her.

Oh. My. Gosh. Papyrus cares for someone? Papyrus cares for someone EXCEPT himself?! Papyrus cares for SANS?!? So much that he goes along with a freaking _experiment_ to ensure another handful of living hours for him?!?!? …oh gosh, oh – that’s JUST like anime… which is actually quite funny. But not the bad kind of funny – just…extraordinary.

Alphys dreams of mercy and love and sacrifice for a blissful moment. Then she sighs.

Then again – that is anything _but_ mercy. Papyrus should have left the dead with the dead and rather mess with the living. Sans would be grateful for just letting him expire peacefully and painlessly. It’s not like the afterlife is better than Underground. More like – _anything at all_ is better than Underground.

Alphys takes off her glasses and sighs. Probably it’s cruelty, or selfishness, or whatever else. There _must_ be something that pushes Papyrus towards such blasphemy. Maybe he just doesn’t want to pay his taxes on his own?.. But, seriously. If she was… no, it’s really weird to think of this, it feels sick and terrible to think of yourself as of _weak and helpless and completely at others’ mercy_ – but if it was _she_ who had _fallen down,_ she would actually prefer her neck broken straight away.

You know, just to ensure – just to ensure she never accidentally _wakes up._

 

***

 

The lizard doesn’t seem too surprised when Papyrus appears at her threshold mere minutes after the call, with a big rucksack on his shoulders. Alphys makes a little step back when seeing him up close, though. Maybe out of politeness, or maybe… The skeleton remembers she must’ve never seen him without his armor. And _yes_ , he knows that without his high boots or shoulder pads he doesn’t look half as intimidating as he should.

“S-so soon, huh”, says Alphys in a disinterested voice, adjusting her glasses. “You really are in a h-hurry”.

“DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I HAVE TIME TO SPARE?!”

“I d-do not think anything. I merely made an observation, m-mind you”. She squints at him. “I hope nobody knows about this l-little thing? Especially n-not Undyne? Because if s-somebody did, it would make a huge inconvenience for us b-both”.

“YOU THINK I AM SOME MORON WHO CANNOT EVEN KEEP A SECRET? AND UNDYNE SENT ME ON AN UNSPECIFIED BREAK”. He huffs and crosses his arms. “AS IF _I_ AM PARTICULARLY THRILLED TO HAVE ANY BUSINESS WITH _HER_!..”

“I see, I see”, Alpys says quickly. “My c-condolences. Now, where is our subject?”

Papyrus manages not to flinch at the change in her voice. Alphys idle and Alphys working are two different people. Well, she wasn’t made Royal Scientist for nothing…

“RIGHT HERE”. He drops the rucksack and unzips it. An unconscious body falls out in a clatter of bones.

“Good. 0.2 HP, hm. It is definitely curious how he managed to outlive my prognosis. Still, it could do with percentage rather than quantity, or… Sign this”. A sheet of paper is handed over to Papyrus; he skims it and signs carelessly. “Now get him and follow me”. She rushes to a tiny pad on the wall, types in some commands and waits till the fake wall finishes sliding away. “You are right; we have no time to spare”.

Papyrus grabs Sans and follows her into the elevator - and then into the dusty, well-fortified corridors of her secret lab, walking strictly five steps behind her and feeling slightly more at ease than most monsters would in this grim place.

“I HOPE THOSE MELTY ABOMINATIONS ARE LOCKED UP. I DON’T WANT TO RUN INTO ONE OF THEM”.

“Don’t worry”, says Alphys, never looking back. “They are all properly contained”.

“I HOPE THEY ARE CONTAINED _BETTER_ THAN BACK THEN!”

“Yes. Definitely better”, she says with a tired sigh. “I didn’t forget your assistance. I am forever indebted”.

But that forever will soon end, she reminds herself.

They turn a corner, and suddenly something looms above them, something so gloomy and dark and rusty and just so _malicious_ that Papyrus summons his magic out of pure instinct.

Alphys watches a couple of bones soar in the air, spreading blue light on wires and displays.

“This is unnecessary. I assure you, you are c-completely safe”.

“IT IS NOT LIKE…” Papyrus growls and lets the bones fall apart. “NOTHING. IT’S NOTHING”.

The machine they are facing looks like something designed only to take and drain and hurt. No one ever bothered to make it look like anything else; there was nobody to trick with soft leather seats and colored plastic. Ironically enough, today it will help to _prolong_ a life instead of cutting it short. (I wonder what it would think about the change – if machines could think, that is.)

“I see he is ready. It’s your turn”. Alphys walks up to one of two capsules at the foot of the machine and starts fidgeting with it. “Strip down”.

When she turns around, Papyrus is already fighting with his sweater. It is stuck over his head, no matter how much he flails to take it off. Alphys stares at numerous scars on his torso – at the place where two lower ribs used to be before they were reduced to short shapeless stumps – at a small, dim copper plate with some symbols on his shoulder blade, and a single tattooed line underneath it.

“WELL? WILL YOU STARE AT ME THE WHOLE DAY? I KNOW I _AM_ QUITE A SPECTACLE, BUT…”

“Yes. Right”, she says, slapping her cheeks to drown out the hint of red that spread on them. She helps him with his sweater and walks him to the capsule, trying not to stare at his scars. It is hard, because his whole body is covered in them. She at least doesn’t have to puncture his bones to put the right needles in: there are small copper rings on his radius and humerus, designed specifically for the purpose. Papyrus doesn’t frown when the injection is administered – an acquired experience.

Alphys thinks that it is probably for the better that he always wears this stupid armor.

He watches her as she drags Sans to the second capsule and tucks him in, pausing a bit at the sight of a similar copper plate.

“YOU KNOW, IF IT GOES WEIRD I WILL PROBABLY SUE YOU”, he says when she comes to fasten the belts on him. “I WILL SUE THE LIVING HELL OUT OF YOU”.

“I bet”, she says and shuts the capsule.

 

***

 

The pain is too much.

It is far worse than having your ribs cut off by an unlucky swipe of a sword, or having your eye taken out, or being poisoned, or anything of the sort – not that Papyrus knows how most of it feels like. He lies there, growling and clenching his fists, and feels the very life being drained from him. The noise of the machine is like thunder, the light pierces his eyesockets like a lightning, but he has to be determined.

He has to stay determined.

Through the pain and noise and light he still manages to turn his head in the direction of the second capsule. He wonders briefly if Sans feels the same pain. Maybe it will be enough to wake him up? Maybe it will be enough now?..

…It soon becomes too unbearable to think anymore.

 

***

 

The pain finally ends.

Papyrus doesn’t register most things after that; he is dragged out of the capsule, he is thrown on some kind of a soft surface – he blacks out – then he wakes up to Alphys’ face.

“So you are alive”, she says without much interest. “Good”.

“DID… SANS WAKE UP?..”

She pauses. “And that is the first thing you ask?.. P-papyrus, I thought we had it over. The p-procedure wasn’t meant to wake him. Only to p-prolong his existence”.

“STILL”.

“No. No, he didn’t”.

Papyrus sighs. His head is heavy, and everything still tries to swim before his eyes. The temptation to just – lower his head back and close his eyes – it is so strong – so maybe – maybe it won’t hurt if he – if he just… did it… for a second…

“Papyrus, I am afraid you h-have outstayed your w-welcome”.

Papyrus opens his eyes reluctantly. Alphys looms over him in annoyance.

“Your stats are fine, there is no danger to your life aside from certain weakness, but you c-can handle weakness, I am sure. That means I will no longer bother you. I am afraid I have other important b-business to attend”.

Still dizzy, Papyrus somehow manages to stand – in a blur his clothes appear on him, he doesn’t remember how – Alphys is there to ensure he can stand on his own two, but then she walks off, and he has to keep his balance by himself. It feels like an almost impossible task.

“Oh. And don’t forget the subject”.

Suddenly something is put into his arms. That throws him off balance, and he almost falls.

“Goodbye, now. I hope you are lucid enough to walk?”

Sans’ bones dig into his arms.

The corridor is not that long, come on. A step. Another one. His limp is back, worse than before. He leans on the wall, then stands upright and continues walking. It is so easy. Not a feat at all. Just keep walking. One more step. And one more. And then one more, again. Forward. Forward. Forward…

Suddenly, he bounces into something – he looks up, confused (the door wasn’t that close!)… and he sees something red and white and black, something glittery, something sparkling, something that stares back at him with just the same confusion. Something that just screams it belongs on a scene rather than here.

It’s Mettaton.

“OH! UHM. ALPHYS, DARLING?” he calls uneasily, looking at something behind Papyrus’ back. “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU WERE EXPECTING GUESTS…”

Papyrus doesn’t move. It seems like the fate decided to warp his dreams into nightmares. Of course he would not mind to meet Mettaton, but not like this, never like this. He is dizzy, armorless, scarred, barely standing. He knows he is a mess. And also he knows far too well he doesn’t stand a chance, there is no way he can now change that awful first impression. But maybe he can at least keep his dignity – what is left of it.

Papyrus straightens his back, greets his idol with a single respectful nod and lets go of the wall. Slowly, but steadily he walks around Mettaton and continues his journey towards the door. He feels being watched, his head is swimming, but he doesn’t break his stride. Nevermind the giddiness. Nevermind the limp. One step, then another. Legs straight, head high, and not a twitch betrays his exhaustion.

At the other side of the door, he hunches down and spends a few minutes breathing heavily.

 

***

 

Once out of Mettaton’s sight, Papyrus understands that he forgot the rucksack somewhere in the labs.

He hates the very thought of going back for it – and, honestly, he feels like he simply won’t make the journey again – so he looks around, swipes a sheet from one of the abandoned beds and wraps Sans in it like in a cocoon. It is a hard job, because there is always a stray limb somewhere sticking out, and when it is dealt with, there is not enough cloth to cover his skull, and when the skull is properly tucked in, Sans is bent into such a croissant that Muffet wouldn’t probably spot a difference. Papyrus sighs and wonders if swaddling a baby is as hard. Is it better when the one you are trying to swaddle is twisting and turning, or hanging down lifelessly?

(Probably best not to ask.)

After the Sans cocoon looks decent enough to be considered harmless – a laundry pile, maybe, or a really weird handbag – Papyrus can finally proceed. He emerges from the lab doors and into the scorching air of Hotland. The River Person watches him stumble closer from underneath his cloak.

“Tra la la”, they say nonchalantly, as if a fainting disheveled skeleton is the most ordinary sight in the underground. “Care to ride my boat? Where to?”

“SNOWDIN”, breathes Papyrus before taking a hesitant step forward. Thankfully, the boat doesn’t rock at all beneath his foot, or he would end up in the river.

“Snowdin it is, then”, they answer before turning away.

Papyrus has enough time to make sure that Sans won’t slip off the deck and into the water before the boat goes off. For some reason, today it is going slower than usual, but Papyrus doesn’t feel like shouting at the River Person to hurry up. He hesitates for a moment before sliding down and leaning against the boat’s side.

The water bubbles against the wood. Its tune is calming. Papyrus closes his eyes and listens to the waves rocking the small boat.

A quiet noise echoes above him: something halfway from a squawk to a sigh. When he cracks his eyesockets open, there is no one on the high bank. Only some Echo Flowers wave to and fro with a careless soft whisper.

Papyrus slips one hand into the water. It washes around his fingers, cool enough to numb them quickly. It is not a bad feeling, though.

“Tra la la”, says the River Person suddenly, turning their head to him. “The waters are wild. The wind is changing. Make sure to put on as many pairs of pants as you can”.

The skeleton’s stare travels to the Person, but they do not explain that sudden meteorological observation. They turn away and stare forward.

Papyrus closes his eyes again.

 

***

 

When the phone rings, Alphys is chewing at some quick-to-cook meal, which tastes exactly as terrible as it sounds. Mettaton has just left, after getting his updates and investigating her for half an hour about the “mysterious stranger” in her lab; looks like the robot was somehow convinced that the scarred skeleton was either a justice fighter or a rebel of some sort, and maybe he _did_ watch too many human cartoons – maybe they _both_ did. She picks the phone up without swallowing and stutters through a mouth full of noodles:

“W-wfo isf th-th-thfis?” – and yeah, it comes out just as terrible as it sounds too.

After a moment’s pause the phone answers in a weird reverberating voice:

“Su-up, nerdface?”

Alphys finally gulps down the noodles.

“I demand the a-answer. Who is this?”

“A stickler for formalities, huh?” the phone says. “Or didn’t you recognize my voice? Fine. Captain Undyne speaking. Sup, nerdface?”

Alphys feels immense relief that she doesn’t have anything in her mouth, or she would certainly choke.

“O-oh. _Oh_. Um. I really d-didn’t recognize you. M-my ap-ap-ap-ap… apologies?”  She always makes that little pause before saying the word if she stutters badly enough.

“Hm. Maybe I _do_ have to take off the helmet. Makes my voice funny. Or maybe it’s just the line, you sounded weird at first too”, Undyne says, and Alphys kind of bursts inside at the thought of them trying to communicate through a helmet and a full mouth. “So. First things first, how’s my spear going?”

Alphys casts a quick glance at the shining pole on a nearby table. She has no idea how it’s even possible to wield this monstrosity, but hey, it’s Undyne’s shtick – to make up for lack of common sense by expense of conceit.

“It’s, uh. G-going better than expected?”

“ _Huh_. Well, second question: what the hell is up with Papyrus?”

Nice priorities there, Undyne.

“W-what? Why sh-sh-should I even…”

“I saw him just now on a boat from Hotland, and one of the guards noticed him entering your lab, so, what the hell is up? He looked like you put him through a blander or something… Wait. How the fuck you guys know each other at all?..”

“W-w-we’ve got a l-long history”, Alphys says immediately. “B-but why do you even care? By the s-sound of it, you weren’t interested in having any m-more business with him…”

“It’s my fucking business to decide if I want to have any fucking business with Papyrus”, Undyne explains, as frankly as always. “Now will you finally get to the point?”

Alphys sighs.

“I w-was only compelling to his r-request”.

“And the request was?..”

“T-to forcefully take away a portion of his HP”.

Undyne is silent for a moment, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with indescribable emotion.

“I… probably don’t want to know what sort of powerplay you two are into”.

“N-n-no! It’s n-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh…” She gives up and tries another word, and it comes out surprisingly clear. “It’s _different_! It was n-nothing of the sort!”

“Then what was it, some act of masochism?”

“M-more like sadism”, Alphys says grimly.

“Alphys”, says Undyne, and the scientist imagines her pinching her nose bridge. “You being cryptic is the last thing I need right now”.

“Fine”, Alphys says with an annoyed resolve. “You know he had a b-brother? The one who has recently f-fallen?”

“Yeah, got the news first. Why?”

“Papyrus wanted to p-prolong his fading. The stage where his c-condition could be stabilized medically has been surpassed already, so the only way to p-postpone the dusting was to d-donate him HP”.

There is a long silence.

“C…crazy”, Undyne says finally in a very calm, bland voice. “It’s just… crazy. I mean… who does this. Who would do something like this in a sound mind”.

“Yeah”, says Alphys in a voice equally emotionless. “That’s just w-what I thought”.

“Maybe he _did_ hit his head, after all. He has been really out of his mind lately…”

“This is highly p-probable”.

Another pause.

“D-do you probably need anything else?”

“No, I don’t think… Oh, wait! There’s, there’s one thing I wanted to ask you”.

“W-well?” says Alphys nonchalantly, trying to slow down her speeding heartbeat.

“Oh. Um. Okay. That is, um. What… um… what’s… how is…” And suddenly she blurts: “What’s the weather like today?”

_Oh._

“It’s… hot?” says Alphys, completely stunned. “I m-mean. Now. In Hotland. Around. I mean, around the p-place. Where I l-live. C-currently”.

With every detail she adds, she feels exponentially dumb.

“That’s… nice”, says Undyne cautiously. “Fine… Ok, Captain Undyne out, thank you for your cooperation, bye”.

She hangs up before Alphys can say anything, which is probably for the best, so the lizard buries her face in her hands and lets out a long embarrassed “uuuugh”, glad to have no one to hear her.

Little does she know that in Waterfall a similar “UUUUGH!” can heard, only louder.

 

***

 

He somehow manages to doze off – no, really, Sans _has_ finally rubbed on him! – and he wakes up only when the boat bumps into the river bank. For a second he stares around in confusion. Then he stands up with a groan and picks the Sans croissant. The River Person’s hood follows his movements.

“Tra la la. Come back any time. But maybe not too soon”.

Papyrus stands on the bank for a minute or so, staring at the ground. Snowflakes are settling on his shoulders. The boat behind his back departs with a rustle and a splash.

The town lies ahead of him.

Papyrus takes a long breath and settles one foot in front of the other. Good. Very good, it is a start. He moves again, dragging his bad foot slightly. Yes, yes. Keep going. Keep walking.

The houses are silent around him; most monsters are either working or watching their young, old and sick. The streets are almost empty. It is great, really. It feels not as shameful to limp to your house when nobody watches you.

“Oh! There he is, the noble Royal Guardsman! Or maybe not anymore, are you?”

(Whoops, I guess I just jinxed it all.)

A quite familiar Snowdrake stares up at him with a friendly smile. Papyrus stares back.

“I wonder where your armor went”, the teen muses loudly. Some windows crack open; some doors squeak, turning on their hinges. “It almost helped you look _cool_ , you know! And now you look, I dunno, _frozen_. Hee hee! Are you taking a day off or what? I didn’t know guarding was a part-time job”.

Papyrus thinks – calmly, as if through a thick haze – that a week, a day before he would probably scream at the little piece of crap. He would probably scare him into submission, threaten or try to charge him with disobedience or something. However, right now it is all so distant, so blurry. And he is so tired. He is so tired.

The Snowdrake looks at him curiously.

“You know, it is a bit disheartening!” he says. Bystanders creep closer, peeping from windows, doors, shadows, watching from behind the fences and trees. “Not that my bros have any problem with that, no! But maybe you’d want to step back in, I dunno, and do your job for a change? At the very least, the town lately lacks screaming”.

Papyrus stays and watches and never says a word. It is too hard, suddenly: to say words. To think of what words to say. To master up the needed sarcasm and anger. That is too much of a task for him. All he wants is sleep. Preferably, somewhere dark and quiet. And that annoying teen is the only thing preventing him from getting that.

So he starts walking again, in slow steady steps. The watching monsters crawl just a tiny bit closer. The Snowdrake gasps as Papyrus passes him.

“Hey! Don’t you ignore me! I am- I will tell Dad- I! Stop right there!”

Suddenly Papyrus feels a tug – something pulls the sheet in his hands – he reacts before he can think properly, yanking it away. Snowdrake lets go of the sheet with a startled noise, almost falling over, and he has enough time to send Papyrus an indignant look before he notices something else – and stares there, openmouthed.

Papyrus looks down, following his stare. Ah, there it is. From all that pulling the sheets have loosened, and now a limp hand is sticking out, together with a part of the skull. The sight is almost hilarious, if you forget what it’s all about.

Snowdrake makes some incomprehensible sounds, staring now Sans, now Papyrus. Finally he manages to untie his tongue enough to ask: “What...?”

“HE FELL DOWN”, says Papyrus, and those words are surprisingly easy to utter.

Snowdrake comes closer, spellbound, and reaches for Sans’ hand. Papyrus thinks about shooing him away, but he doesn’t. He lets the teen take the hand. Snowdrake gives it an experimental squeeze, watching Sans’ face. Then he turns his eyes to Papyrus and backs away. The skeleton tucks Sans back in, carefully wrapping the cloth around his body.

“Wait, so… you… so he just… and it wasn’t…” Snowdrake shakes his head and stares down in confusion. “I mean… yeah, but… but why _haven’t_ you?.. I mean…”

He falls silent. Papyrus waits for a few seconds, considering him, then turns away and starts to walk again. The street is silent. All windows are closed, all doors are shut, and there are no eyes that follow Papyrus home.

When inside, he finds just enough power not to drop both Sans and himself right there on the floor. He makes an excruciating spurt up the stairs and leaves Sans on his mattress. For a moment he stares at him, wondering what is going on with his stats. The operation was meant to raise Sans’ HP, sure, but he is pretty sure Alphys said something about losses and percentage and… wait a minute, how much HP has _Papyrus_ left himself?..

Papyrus runs a check and makes a wry face. 50 out of 1100. No wonder he feels like a wreck, Alphys basically squeezed him dry. He is fairly sure he had 1205 HP before, by the way, so does that mean his cap is lower now too? Can it rise back at all? Ugh. Great. His DEF is down on the floor as well, somewhere around 3 instead of usual 50. So that means he marched through the whole Underground as a giant sack of free EXP. Guess he wasn’t attacked only because he has gotten himself quite a reputation. (Good to be a figure of authority, huh?)

Papyrus takes his time to brood, but he has to check Sans as well. And so he does.

He stares at the numbers in front of him for a couple of seconds.

And then he starts laughing.

He laughs and he keeps laughing and he can’t stop. He doubles on himself. Tears come to his eyes: a few dark drops. He laughs.

(What? You think he doesn't do it?  
Oh, believe me he _does_.)

SANS  
HP 1.4/1 ATK 1 DEF 1

It takes a few minutes to calm down. Papyrus wipes his eyesockets, feeling like this fit of laughter has stolen his last power. All this trouble, all this pain – just to raise Sans’ HP to less than one and a half? It is _so_ funny, isn’t it.  

He walks to his room and then all but collapses on the bed. It’s not even close to nighttime, but who cares. He probably needs to eat, dress down, something… nah. Too much work. Too much trouble.

All he wants is sleep.

And sleep is what he does.


	8. Day 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's special: feels. And fur. And regrets.  
> That's not a really special special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what its my work and i can publish it EVERY DAY  
> a lot of hugs to everyone replying!!! you are the best ever and you have my eternal blessing

On the eighth day (which comes right after the seventh) there is not much left to do.

Papyrus wakes up with less than half of his HP at hand and with the biggest headache ever. They still have some painkillers left, so he drags himself down the stairs, wincing, gulps them down and waits a few minutes for them to work. They do not stop the pain completely, but the world seems a little more bearable after that.

He is thankful now for this sudden break. He doesn’t want to lose his job, of course, and he will still fight tooth and nail for it if he has to, but Asgore almighty, if he had to actually _do_ his job right now – he would probably fall down as well - from exhaustion.

The lights don’t turn on when he clicks the switches. Probably that’s because of the debt.

He stands in the middle of the room, thinking. He has a lot of work to do, even with less HP and fatigue. Cleaning, yes. That comes first. That damned mailbox included.  Then shopping. Then bills. Then… well, three tasks are fine for now.

Maybe it _is_ fine to take baby steps. Maybe it is good enough to step at all.

Papyrus cleans the warming fridge. There are still a couple of cucumbers and a forgotten piece of bread, which make him a tiny sandwich. He doesn’t feel like eating, but he makes himself chew on the tasteless thing anyway, watching his HP rise just slightly.

That’s not much, but it is a start.

He arms himself with a rug and finishes the cleaning, quietly thanking himself for having started it before. This way, there is only some dust and dirt to get rid of – and the upstairs, of course. His own room is almost completely clean, so he needs just a few swipes to get it done. With a cringe and a shrug he enters Sans’ room and starts cleaning it as well. He even changes the sheets on Sans’ mattress, even though he doesn’t bother with dressing Sans up. After the most disgusting hour of his life he looks at the fruits of his labor and admits he has never seen the room in such a proper state.

Was the carpet always green?

At first Papyrus wants to simply shovel all the litter in a bag and burn it, to save the trouble. But then again, there may be some useful pieces of paper among the wrappings and unopened junk mail. There is not much chance, but.

He sighs and starts sorting it all out.

Most of it is junk, of course, but he still finds some interesting things. He never thought he would see them again, least of all here; but Sans _has_ been surprising him a lot lately.

He sits down, looking at them carefully. A pile of blueprints, stuck between the chest of drawers and the wall. An old letter, written in shaky big letters by a hand that wasn’t adjusted to a pen yet. A couple of worn yellow photos which were made so long ago that even the people pictured on them thought about them no more. Trinkets, believed to be lost or broken years prior. Pieces of cloth, from shirts and trousers too small to fit anymore. A tiny silver key, resting in dust under the dirty mattress. Papyrus inspects it and decides to leave it alone.

The rest of it goes to piles and boxes. The trash is thrown into the can, and Papyrus sinks into the coach with a content sigh.

Phew.

He feels slightly better than the days before, with a little more energy, but he is afraid that’s not going to last, so he doesn’t sit for long. What was it again?.. Oh. Shopping. Shopping comes now. Yeah. Right. And on his way back he will empty the mailbox. Sounds like a plan.

Papyrus is already on his feet and trying to find some proper clothes (that don’t look like somebody slept in them probably not even once), when the phone rings. The sound makes him jump a little and summon a bone before he understands where it’s coming from. Not that he feels any less spooked after he _does_ understand that, though. It’s either Alphys, Undyne or some official again, and all the three are probably bad news.

The only difference is _how_ bad the news will be.

An unfamiliar voice in the speaker tells him (quite with a déjà vu air) to arrive to New Home right away in order to be questioned about his relative’s recent death. (It’s only then when Papyrus realizes that he forgot to mail them the papers on the matter - and shivers, quite literally. He also has no dust yet to present them.)

And that is bad _bad_ news.

He remembers, vaguely, distantly, how Sans got him through that years ago: what-s and when-s and how-s of the tricky process of somebody’s death. Not when the death is your own, of course. In that case, all you have to do is to lie patiently in some urn or box or whatever and wait for your dust to be spread, with or without pomp. (It’s always easier to stay dead than alive, in all honesty.)  The thing is, if you are not the lucky belated, you have to follow a set of rules, step by step, very carefully; in a land like that, where a life costs everything and nothing at the same time, both birth and death are somewhat sacred. And if the paperwork is what prevents a murder, than the bureaucracy simply has one more upside.

That also means shopping has to wait. Papyrus feels a tug of distress at the sudden change of plans, he hates those, but yeah, this is much more urgent. He dresses up in some better-looking clothes, grabs some gold and sets off.

Sans’ mailbox gets an annoyed look as he is leaving. It is overflowing with envelopes nobody ever bothered to remove. Papyrus promises himself to take care of it later. Then he recalls already having done that before and promises harder.

There is agitated barking and growling somewhere in the distance, but he tells himself it is not his problem anymore.

He fills in the needed forms while travelling to Hotland in the boat. On his way to New Home he buys himself a drink and a Mettaton-shaped steak (the cat monster selling them looks at him with a face that screams “kill me please”). His magic levels jump higher, his HP does as well, and he hopes that it means he can handle another pissed off official.

To his surprise, when he turns up at his destination, he is quickly relieved from his papers and led away, with sideways glances and secretive murmur, and the further they go the more Papyrus feels like this meeting will be nothing usual.

When he is pushed into the royal palace, he is sure of that.

He swiftly passes a golden corridor, smelling of dust and death much more than you’d feel comfortable with, then a surprisingly ordinary-looking house, then some sets of stairs. Finally he steps into a spacey hall and squints, feeling not quite at ease with the sudden influx of color and light. It is far too peaceful, far too bright, with golden flowers covering the ground and soft moss on the walls and unseen birds chirping above. It stands out too much to feel real at all.

The King is also there, despite the fact Papyrus doesn’t see him at once - his magic aura announces his presence before anything else; it hangs over the place like a thick fog, so dense that it makes Papyrus’ earholes ring. It doesn’t feel like he though it would, though. There is no aggression or thirst for blood in it, which he would understand. Instead it is somber, collected and imposing. And very, very tired.

The King himself appears from the Barrier entrance and carries himself to the throne, stepping around the flowers habitually. Even when he sits down, his figure looms above Papyrus. His back is straight, his head is held high, and his magic envelops everything in the room.

Well, bureaucracy is not the only reason there haven’t been many riots in the kingdom.

Papyrus finally remembers his manners and slops on one knee, bowing his head low. He feels a bit overwhelmed, even though it’s not his first time here.

"YOUR MAJESTY, I, PAPYRUS THE SKELETON, HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR CALL".

"I have been expecting you, Papyrus", says King Asgore, barely moving his lips and with a face set in stone. "I would like to go straight to the business, so I am afraid we will have to skip the formalities. The matter at hand is not quite a usual one, and it required a thorough investigation in addition to the standard process”.

Papyrus raises his eyes at Asgore, still not moving. The boss monster stays silent for a few seconds.

“As far as I know, you are the brother – and the only relative – of Sans the skeleton”.

“YES, YOUR MAJESTY”. Papyrus feels a fleeting sense of surprise. Asgore knowing Sans? …Well, of course. Sure. Yeah. Why not, really.

If Asgore could ever be accused of hesitation, right now he seems very close to it.

“There was no information on your family, though. Sans has never shared this particular piece of knowledge as well. Could you possibly elaborate on this?”

Papyrus swallows and thinks of the grey files, marked with weird symbols, being held by a pair of hands too large to belong to him or Sans, the files that have been shoved in the farthest drawer in the farthest corner of the house and locked and never looked at again.

“I AM AFRAID WE HAVE BEEN ABANDONED AS CHILDREN, YOUR MAJESTY. NO TRACE OF OUR POSSIBLE RELATIVES WAS EVER FOUND”.

“I see”. Lost children are not an uncommon thing in the Underground; not all of the parents want to keep them, or are sturdy enough to protect themselves from LV-collecting maniacs who have gone too far to care about laws or papers.

Another pause. Papyrus studies Asgore quietly. There is a shadow across the King’s face, hiding his eyes. The crown is dim on his dark hair, and the passing wind seems to avoid touching his fur.

“…Is Sans truly gone?”

It is a sudden question; more so because it is so straightforward. Papyrus feels his eyes widen. Sadness is not something you notice in many monsters, because it can be seen as a weakness, as a perfect spot to hit, and seeing it in the mighty King –so open, so reluctant to dance around the subject! – seeing it in Asgore is surreal. Then again… probably he is the only monster who can afford showing it.

The king is still waiting for an answer, though.

“Y…YES, YOUR MAJESTY. HE IS. HE HAS FALLEN DOWN”. Those words still feel weird in his mouth, despite the number of times he has already spoken them.

And at that the mighty, noble, powerful King slowly sinks down.

“…I see”.

The silence drags for much longer this time. Invisible birds chirp somewhere high above their heads. Papyrus watches Asgore, and only now he remembers how old the king must be.

“MAY I… MAY I INQUIRE, YOUR MAJESTY? PLEASE, FORGIVE ME MY IMPUDENCE”.

Asgore shakes his horns as if he has forgotten he is not alone.

“What do you wish to know?”

“WHO… WHO EXACTLY _WAS_ SANS? I MEAN… WHAT KIND OF ACQUAINTANCE WAS HE TO YOU, ERM -YOUR MAJESTY?..”

Asgore blinks at him.

“Why… Sans was the Royal Judge. Due to his ability to sense a person’s LV precisely, he was quite irreplaceable. I am afraid the current Judge lacks his ability a lot…”

The King’s gaze travels away. His magic tastes thick and bitter to Papyrus, it is almost suffocating.

“He was also an acquaintance of mine, yes. An old one. He… provided us with an insight that we already miss”.

For some reason, Papyrus cannot imagine Sans with some secret documents or whatever, all official at a meeting. Instead he pictures Sans talking to Asgore casually, in this hall, among the flowers, sitting at the foot of the throne with a cup of golden tea (no one could ever prove that the constant stains on his clothes were left by the dirt in this garden, of course, and no one would even voice such an opinion, but. Informers are not grieved over like this. Allies – _friends_ – are.)

“He lent us a hand in many difficult cases. He worked alongside me for many years, and I got used to his… manner of handling the job”.

(This means, if translated into proper language, that they knew each other for such a long time and went through so many unpleasant things together that a bond was formed, not quite friends but more than just acquaintances. They were not flawless, but they grew used to each other’s quirks, and now there is something clearly missing – something not to be replaced even with complete perfection.)

“OH”, Papyrus says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He locks his fingers – a divergence from the etiquette, but the scene is informal enough anyway. “HE NEVER TOLD ME, YOUR MAJESTY”.

Asgore sighs and covers his eyes with a palm. Then he stands up, and the sadness is hidden deep under the surface; he looks like a warrior struck by a blow that failed to be fatal, and knowing that many more blows are yet to come. The magic subsides a little, allowing Papyrus to breath again.

“I believe that is all, Papyrus the skeleton”.

“W… WAIT! I MEAN, YOUR MAJESTY…” He takes a little breath, shocked at his own boldness. “YOU SAID THAT THE CURRENT JUDGE IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH AT CHECKING LV?”

“Yes, I believe I have told you exactly that”, Asgore says with a well-covered interest.

“I…” Papyrus stands up, looking at Asgore questioningly. When no reprimand is made, he continues. “I SHARE MANY ABILITIES WITH SANS. I BELIEVE THIS SKILL IS ONE OF THOSE WE HAVE IN COMMON. I AM QUITE EXPERIENCED IN PERFORMING PRECISE CHECKS, YOUR MAJESTY”.

The implementation is clear to them both. The king thinks for a few seconds.

“Can you check my LV?”

“…MAY I, YOUR MAJESTY?”

“Yes, I allow you”.

Papyrus concentrates, trying to sense it – that specific variable among the others, the one that feels like frostbite against his own magic.

“BETWEEN SEVEN AND TEN”, he says finally with a little confusion. His own LV is five; he rarely conceded to killing. To think that the King has almost the same number… Then again, the higher it is, the closer you are to going completely insane and bloodthirsty, so.  “CLOSER TO THE UPPER BORDER, BUT NOT QUITE THERE. I WOULD SAY NINE?.. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LARGE GAP, YOUR MAJESTY, I AM NOT IN THE BEST PHYSICAL CONDITION…”

“Still, it is much better than the current replacement’s result”, Asgore says thoughtfully. He sighs. “I believe you have all the qualifications needed to apply for the position of a Royal Judge. And being a close relative of the previous one may be the best recommendation you could get. Still, you have to provide the papers before a decision is made”.

Papyrus nods, bows, thanks the King profusely and turns to make his exit.

“The last thing, Papyrus”. The king stands next to his throne, head held high, eyes steady, and spots of light dance on his cape. “…Where did you spread the dust, I wonder?”

Papyrus sighs. He doesn’t feel like explaining that there is no dust there yet.

“I AM STILL CHOOSING A PLACE, YOUR MAJESTY”.

Asgore nods solemnly. “Ah, I see. I will not keep you any longer, then”.

Papyrus exits the flowery hall as quickly as it is polite, and when he sees the familiar blacks and grays and whites of his world, he sighs with relief.

 

***

 

He walks alongside the river, throwing stones in the water. They land with quiet splashes, and circular little waves run from them, overlapping each other.

Of course, if Papyrus was truly in a hurry, and if he really felt like following orders, and if the River Person wasn’t taking so long to arrive, and if, if, if – he would surely take the boat to Snowdin and not bother with walking. His leg feels a little better today, but he has a premonition that maybe, _maybe_ he is going to maim himself if he goes on without proper healing.

On the other hand, maybe it will heal on itself just fine and looking for a healer is such a pain in the ass and just ugh, whatever.

Right after Asgore he visited the office again and asked a few questions. One of secretaries fainted at the hint that he might be the next Judge, and he had to explain for half an hour that he was _not_ a Judge yet and hadn’t even turned his application in – _jeez_ – but still he was assured that, _was_ he to become a Judge, they would be so, _so_ glad to have business with him.

That means, hopefully, lower bills and fewer unwanted calls. Corruption is not a nice thing to have in a kingdom – but it gets better once you are on the receiving end of it.

At this rate, he is very likely to run into Undyne, so Papyrus speeds up. He is not particularly thrilled to meet his commander right now. He is still a little pissed at her. Not to mention the whole thing about him literally breaking orders by staying in Waterfall when he was told very clearly not to, but hey! Everyone is breaking rules left and right at this point, why cannot he?

He takes a shortcut here and there (a _real_ one, a dark alley between two caves and then a damp passage along the bank). When he is strolling across a thin path high above the more commonly used roads, he notices movement below. But when he looks down, there is no one there.

Interesting.

He stills, watching the bushes along the road. Yeah, there it is: a blot of a wrong hue of green, a hint of something that is not quite grass or dirt.

An ambush, that is.

It is not his business at all, and he is technically not even on duty right now, and he has every possible reason to shrug and go away. But he doesn’t. Such level of preparations means they are trying to get somebody big. And they are very close to succeeding, by the looks of it. Papyrus is sure they are impossible to notice from the road.

He steps back into the shadows and waits. He doesn’t have much magic, but it will be enough for a couple of hits, and it is his job to know where to land them to make them count.

There is a sudden shift, a stir, and all the movement dies down. Somebody is coming close. Papyrus presses his body into the stone.

A familiar tune reaches him before anything else, before the heavy stumping and metal grinding, and he knows who that somebody is.

Undyne is walking down the road, hands behind her head, whistling. She looks at ease, and it is impossible to tell if it is a façade or if she really has dropped her guard.

The bushes burst with monsters. It is sudden, and silent, and so swift that Papyrus almost misses it. Undyne doesn’t. In a blink, she summons a row of spears to cut off a good chunk of attackers, shields herself from an incoming attack and starts her dance.

Papyrus watches her flow around the opponents, pulling them to the ground with her magic, caging them, immobilizing them, and he feels a little bit inadequate. Not that he is not great! He is! But seeing Undyne fight always feels you just a little bit awestricken.

(To be completely honest, it’s less like she is really that good and more like she likes to show off.)

But Papyrus knows what to watch out for, and so he notices those attacks that reach their target, those streaks of blue on her armor that shouldn’t be there, those hints of tension in her grin. Then again, that is Undyne, she is tough, she can handle this on her own. It is just one silly ambush, one out of many. It’s all just a normal day.

But Papyrus knows what to watch out for, and that’s why he notices a sudden whirl of energy to the left of Undyne, right in the center of her blind zone.

His arm moves before he can think.

 

…Undyne can manage it all for herself, yeah!

Maybe there’ve been a little too many close calls this time, and maybe she is getting tired, but she’s got this. She is fine. This is all fine.

It is not like back then. She is stronger. She won’t let anyone else catch her off guard.

…Heh.

She growls, throwing a monster back. It is hard job, even with all her skills; even more so because she shouldn't _kill_ the attackers. Dead, they will not tell why they decided to attack her in the first place, and if there is an actual riot behind it all; and also she will have twice the paperwork; and also she will have a lot of extra EXP at hand, which is another step towards the next level and towards the Royal Judge. Everyone knows what happens to those chicks who reach the LOVE of 20.

(And no, it’s _not_ a pep talk.)

She ducks to avoid a row of bullets, then straightens, breathing heavily. Half of ambushers are struggling against her green magic, and some are maimed enough to rethink their life choices. Are they done yet?

Something hot burns her left cheek, and she turns around, cursing herself for forgetting to check her blind spot… but the attack never fully forms. It fizzles out, and the monster casting it jerks away with a shriek. Undyne grounds them as well. One less.

But what was it?..

…After she is done rounding up the assaulters and reading up their rights (with “shutting the fuck up” being the first on the list), she checks the spot where that one freak didn’t quite burn her like they wanted to. Something made them change their mind. Something made them scream and try to… maybe try to avoid an attack aimed at _them_? But where did it come from? It certainly wasn’t her…

She kneels down and checks the ground.

She finds bone splinters.

 

***

 

Very soon the whispers and splashes of Waterfall change for the silence of Snowdin. Papyrus greets the cold wind on his bones with a weak relief. Alright, that thing settled, now what?..

Oh. Right. Groceries. And mailbox.

He turns up at his house and gets some money quickly (the mailbox gets a hateful stare and even considers going ablaze at the pressure). Before going, though, he sighs, draws all the curtains, settles on the coach and reaches for his aching leg.

His fingers sparkle a hesitant green.

It’s not much, because he is almost completely drained, but it still counts. _That magic_ is probably not a thing you should rub in people’s faces – it bears a lot of implications about the caster’s character – so Papyrus double-checks the windows after he’s done. No one has spied on him. The shop is just a street away, and it is not a long walk at all, and his leg is almost completely fine… so it will probably go smoothly, will it not?

He walks outside and immediately groans at the sight of a tiny white dog who is waiting for him at the stairs.

(Well, it looks like a certain _someone_ has different plans.)

Papyrus walks through the town, making a very fine job of ignoring the dog. The dog doesn’t notice being ignored and follows him with a tongue happily stuck out.

The rare monsters outside mostly just mind their own business. Papyrus still gets a couple of glances, but they are quick and not very interested. It looks like they have finally found something else to busy themselves with.

A bunny bows to Papyrus, even though he is not in his armor, and he holds his chin just a bit higher.

When he is just at the store’s door, though, the dog decides to step up his game. He jumps right at Papyrus’ chest, and the next three seconds are a flurry of white fur and flailing arms and a shrieking skeleton and a happy slimy dog and – oh. A sound of two tiny magnets being pulled apart.

Papyrus watches, numb and frozen, as the Damn Canine From The Pits Of Hell ballets away with his hand in teeth.

Yes, it is a good thing that skeletons’ limbs can detach without much discomfort, or there would be a lot of marrow and much more shrieking, but it is still just a teensy weensy bit disheartening, don’t you all think? The townsfolk murmur something sympathetic behind his back; maybe that’s because, even though Papyrus is the dog’s favorite, he is not the only guy who gets messed with. (If you ever slipped in your wife’s bed only to find a winking dog in bikini under the sheets, you’d be sympathetic too. Not that the dog wasn’t sexy at all, but the element of surprise kind of ruins it. And maybe molting and salivating play a role here as well.) The worst part of the whole situation is that Papyrus still feels his hand, the fangs and the fluids of a canine mouth. So is it a miracle that he makes a jump start and runs like a sprinter, screaming obscenities?

…It probably _is_ a miracle, with all that hobbling he performed a mere second ago.

(If you think from that perspective, can a little white dog apply for a miracle-giving saint?)

He runs along the path, out of breath and already exhausted: the days of no sleep, food or exercise are finally catching up with him (unlike him with the dog, sadly). The tiny white lump is speeding away, always a few feet ahead, and his fangs are sinking in Papyrus’ bones rather eagerly.

Ouch!

Jeez. Papyrus has hoped that the days of him being mistaken for a dining plate were gone. It took a long time to teach the dogs that he was much better at the role of the server, not the meal. (Bone attacks can be used in so many different ways.) And now look at him, back at square one.

Aw, that hurt!

The guard stumbles and almost falls, but finds his balance in mid-air. He remembers to straighten his back and to move his arms in a proper way, and not like a frantic scarecrow. Slowly, it begins to feel less like torture.

Papyrus starts grinning.

It feels… nice?.. Yes, it _does_! It is very tiring, and something tells Papyrus that in the evening he will be but a lifeless pile of bones, but right now… it is not so bad.

It is very much like the old times, but Papyrus doesn’t think about it right now. He makes a little noise, something between a laugh and a breathless moan, and sprints farther and farther into the forest.

The dog’s yapping sounds triumphant.

 

***

 

They both pop out into a clearing, a very familiar one, with a shoddy sentry station towering above the snow. Papyrus is still switching from breathless half-laugh to cursing, but he chokes on it when noticing they are not alone there. A familiar figure is slumped against the station, with its head hung low.

Papyrus falls silent.

The dog drops his hand at his feet, very gently. When the skeleton, after a little hesitation, bends down to pick it up, the dog’s head briefly bumps into his fingers, nuzzling against the open palm. His fur is warm and strangely soft.

Then he is gone.

Papyrus reattaches his hand and approaches the figure. It doesn’t show any signs of recognition, except for a sigh that soars up in a little white cloud.

It used to be much more lively, this station; there were monsters laughing and haggling over fried water sausages, with a single low voice sometimes standing out in a moment’s silence before more laughing and careless chatter.

Papyrus sits against the station himself, pressing his back into the wood.

They stay silent for some time.

“Never thought I would say it, but, you know what?” Snowdrake says with a tone a child should not ever use. “I miss him”.

Snow slips from a branch in the distance.

“He was, like, a part of the world here. And not even the worst part. I guess you cannot say that about many folks, huh. I mean”, he says, pulling his knees towards his chest. “He was…”

“WHAT WAS HE?”

Snowdrake chuckles haplessly.

“Well, for starters, he was harmless. The least scary guy. Still kinda scary, but the _mind-your-own-business-and-you’ll-be-fine_ scary, you know. Never attacked anyone unless they did their darnedest to deserve it. Kind of… kind of like you. A good thing, that guard code”. He sighs again. “So, well, you know how they say? Your two sentry stations are the safest place in the whole Snowdin. Well. _Were_ the safest place. I guess it is all over now”.

Papyrus stares at him, and then shifts his gaze to the faraway trees again.

“OH. IS IT SO?”

“Yeah. And also – he was… he was just so damn _funny_ ”. Snowdrake shakes his head, as if in disbelief himself. When Papyrus opens his mouth, he chirps hastily: “I _know_! I know he was _terrible_. Gosh, those jokes – made you cringe at best. Brrr. I am still not completely over that last one, about a bucket of dead babies”.

“I PROBABLY DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THE PUNCHLINE”.

“Yeah. But… but, you see, that was the funniest part. Like, he was so terrible, and everyone knew that, and still he kept them coming, and then it became a usual ordeal. _He_ became a usual ordeal. And maybe, maybe it’s just for me, but every day, we saw that guy and told ourselves, hey, if he’s still up and kicking, with his stats at the bottom and his jokes worse than Jerry’s funeral speech? Maybe we shouldn’t lose hope as well. Maybe we actually have a chance in that shithole”.

Papyrus listens quietly, watching the snow.

“That’s why we were all really shaken when he just. Up and disappeared. And you were walking around so smug, and, well… We kind of thought you dusted him, finally”. At that Papyrus finally turns to him. “Hey, you always talked about how you’d dust him _this_ and you’d dust him _that_ , what did you expect? Of course we always thought those were just, yanno, empty threats, but when he was gone, everybody kind of assumed the worst. But…” Snowdrake shakes his head and suddenly lets out a long, shuddery breath. It sounds much more vulnerable than he wanted it to. “I guess it all simply caught up to him in the end. And it probably shouldn’t be that surprising, but… it is. The guy really managed to make us believe he was immortal, yanno? And now we have to somehow manage without him”.

Papyrus unthinkingly draws his knees closer and wraps his arms around himself.

“…YEAH”.

“Not that we _won’t_ manage without him”, Snowdrake says quietly. “But… just. I miss him”.

A long silence follows. Papyrus waits for a few minutes. Snowdrake doesn’t seem up for any more conversation, so he stands up and dusts himself off.

“…You know, you two were the only ones who ever played along with my puns”, Snowdrake says in a little voice behind his back. “I guess… that kind of thing just runs in the family, huh…”

Papyrus stays silent. He considers Snowdrake before leaving, though. The teen looks sad, but it seems he will be alright on his own.

The guard walks off.

 

***

 

He remembers that he actually wanted to go shopping only when he is at home already. Well, so much for sticking to the plan…

He can turn away and leave immediately and do the shopping. Instead, he slowly wipes his boots and walks up the stairs. His limp is back, stronger than before, almost like it was when he fought Undyne.

He makes it to Sans’ room. He opens the door.

Sans is lying still, in the same position.

Papyrus walks to him, feeling… something. Something big, something mighty, something that was born when Snowdrake started talking about Sans back at his station. Something indescribable.

Something that hurts so much.

“…I DON’T UNDERSTAND”.

Papyrus clenches his fists until his fingers burn with tension.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!..”

The feeling bursts.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!!! THEY KEEP TALKING ABOUT YOU LIKE YOU WAS SOMETHING, _SOMEBODY_ , LIKE YOU WERE SO DAMN IMPORTANT – LIKE YOU PLAYED SUCH A HUGE ROLE! BUT IT IS ALL WRONG! YOU WERE _NOBODY_! YOU WERE NEVER MORE THAN A _NUISANCE_ , A FAT SLOB… A… A LAZY ASS!.. YEAH, _THAT_ IS WHAT YOU ARE, AND NOTHING ELSE, BECAUSE…”

His voice is just a tad quieter now, still a screaming but not such a frantic one.

“BECAUSE, IF YOU WERE ANYTHING ELSE… I WOULD CERTAINLY KNOW!!! BECAUSE, IF YOU REALLY COULD BE SUCH A PERSON, IF YOU… IF YOU COULD BE _MISSED_ LIKE THAT…”

He hugs himself.

_‘…Why didn’t you try to be such a person to me?_ ’ is what he wants to ask, but he will never say it aloud.

“I KNOW _WHAT_ YOU ARE EXACTLY! YOU ARE GARBAGE!!! AND, AND NO ONE WILL MISS YOU WHEN YOU DUST!”

_‘Why do they know more about you than I do?’_

“AND I WILL NOT EVER MISS YOU!!! AND, AND I AM DOING _PERFECT_ WITHOUT YOU, LIKE I HAVE BEEN DOING ALL THOSE YEARS, BECAUSE IT’S NOT LIKE YOU’VE EVER REALLY CARED ABOUT ME!!!”

_‘Why weren’t you here for me like you were for them?’_

“SO I DON’T CARE IF YOU REALLY DIE, OR IF YOU WAKE UP, BECAUSE THERE WILL BE _NO DIFFERENCE AT ALL_! SO…”

_‘…what did I do wrong?’_

“SO…”

He squeezes his eyeholes shut, he clenches his teeth. His fists are painfully tight.

“SO GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!..”

He stomps and teleports.

 

***

 

…A wild, unspecified teleport is not something you want to try, especially with magic levels that low, but, well. Something you act before you think. Sometimes you want to storm out, and simply banging the door isn’t effective enough.

Papyrus has to lean on a tree because his head swims like crazy. Lucky that he ended up in the Snowdin forest, so there are plenty of trees around.

Phew. That sure did take a lot out of him.

Teleporting is not something that comes to him naturally, unlike Sans, so he needs a few minutes to collect himself. When he no longer feels like a complete wreck, he looks around. Seems like he has jumped as far away from the town as possible. Of course, he could have gone in the opposite direction and ended somewhere at the Barrier, but that would be taking it a little too far, don’t you think?

He doesn’t walk towards Snowdin. He… he cannot tell why, actually. That trick left him empty and weary. His anger is mostly gone; there is only exhaustion left. But he doesn’t want to come home. Not yet.

He walks along the well-known path, from one clearing to another. Further, to the dangerous icy field, to the crossroads, to the bridge. The gate is locked; he looks around his inventory and finds a key. He crosses the bridge and closes the gate behind him.

There is a long passage, and then the road ends in a large closed door. He sits against it and sighs.

Something shifts behind the door.

Papyrus jerks up immediately, staring at the door in suspicion. The sound doesn’t repeat, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Maybe whoever it was has fled. Or they just stopped moving. Or they are dead. Or they are a ghost who really likes to mess with people.

Papyrus waits for a few seconds, almost sure he can sense a presence behind the door. Then he reaches out and does the most obvious thing you can do with a door: he knocks.

To his surprise, the door answers him in an excited female voice:

“Well, who’s there?”

It sounds awfully close to a setup for a joke, and Papyrus flinches instinctively. But he decides to answer. There is a mass of stone and wood between them, after all, so it is not like he has to be overly cautious.

“PAPYRUS. THE _GREAT_ PAPYRUS”, he concretizes.

The person behind the door falls silent, and for a moment Papyrus thinks they are gone, but then-

“… _the_ Papyrus?”

Papyrus rounds his chest a little.

“WELL, OF COURSE! IT IS NOT LIKE THERE IS A HERD OF PAPYRUSES RUNNING AROUND. AND EVEN IF THERE WAS, I DOUBT ANY OF THEM WOULD BE GREAT ENOUGH TO BE GIVEN THE TITLE”.

To his surprise, that gets a quiet snort.

“Just to be sure, are you by any chance related to Sans?”

Papyrus slouches again. At this point it feels like everyone knows Sans, so he doesn’t really feel surprised. That doesn’t mean he feels nothing at all, though.

“YES”. A small cold chuckle without any humor behind it.

“Do you happen to know what prevents him from attending his sentry post lately? He has not appeared once in the last two weeks…”

“AND HE WON’T EVER AGAIN, MOST PROBABLY”.

The person pauses again.

“May I query why?”

“HE… FELL DOWN”. Another chuckle. He is too tired, too cold and worn out. His usual demeanor is crumbling down. The great Papyrus? Ha. As if there was anything great about him right now.

“…What a shame”, says the person behind the door, and there is reproach in their voice.

Papyrus leans on the door. His head is heavy, too heavy to hold it properly. Yeah. What a shame.

“…HE FELL DOWN, AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY…”

The person waits a few seconds.

“…what a shame”, say they again, but now quieter, and suddenly with something in their voice that feels so much like _concern_ and _care_ and other _impossible things_ that Papyrus immediately presses his whole body to the door without thinking, as if getting closer to the source of the voice could bring him comfort.

Because he feels like that care is aimed at him, and him only. Not Sans. Not anybody else. But _him_. 

A little suppressed noise escapes him.

“H-HE FELL DOWN, AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW, AND… IT’S BEEN SO LONG, AND…”

“Oh, _dear_ ”, says the person behind the door, and Papyrus presses his skull to the cold wood, clinging to it like to a parent’s chest. “What a _terrible_ shame. I am _so sorry_ ”, they say, even softer, making him tremble, because it sounds like they really _mean_ it. Because it sounds like somebody actually cares about _him_ , and not about the half-dead person back home. “I am sorry. I really am”.

“AND HE JUST… I JUST…”

“It is such a tragedy. It must feel terrible, my dear. I am so sorry for your loss. But I am sure he will be remembered – and missed”. That gets another half-chuckle out of him.

“Y…YEAH”.

“ _Such_ a shame”, says the person again, and Papyrus sinks to his knees, clinging to the door.

“YEAH”.

“I am _so_ sorry”.

“…YEAH”.

They stay like this for long.

 

***

 

When he returns home, it is already night.

The shops are closed. No groceries, then. Well. Papyrus feels like he cannot care anymore, really. One can be angry and bitter only so long. At some moment your blood, or magic, is bound to run cold once again, and you will be left the only survivor of a shipwreck, exhausted and weary but still alive.

It starts to snow.

He stumbles through the silent town. Snow crunches beneath his feet. Lights in the windows die down, one by one. His own house greets him with dark windows from afar. The only building that doesn’t seem to settle down for the night is Grillby’s, understandably. Its windows glow like ambers, and blurred shapes move behind the misted glass. Papyrus passes it, muffling in his coat.

A door creaks behind his back, the voices growing louder and clearer for a moment and then becoming muffled again. Snow crunches three times, and a loud cough ensues. Sounds like somebody is trying to catch the skeleton’s attention.

Papyrus turns around.

Grillby stays there, right in front of him. Stray snowflakes sizzle and vaporize when touching his flames.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT”, snarls Papyrus, and he feels like his whole figure cries exhaustion.

Grillby crackles quietly.

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR FREAKING CREAKING LANGUAGE”.

Now the crackles sound like a hidden smirk. Grillby tilts his head to a side, watching Papyrus quietly – his flames float in upside-down streams. Then he raises a hand holding a package, slightly greasy at the corners. Papyrus eyes it, not knowing how to respond.

“…………..just in case”, suddenly Grillby says in a rustling, whispery voice.

The greasy package is shoved in Papyrus’ hands - he is puzzled enough to grab it. Grillby turns around and slides away with a constant quiet crackle of dying snowflakes.

“OH, SO YOU _CAN_ SPEAK”, Papyrus blunts out in a last attempt to regain ground. “BUT… WHAT’S THE DEAL?..”

Grillby doesn’t turn to him, but condescends enough to slow down a little.

“………………your household. ………….my main source of income”, rustles he again. Then he lingers for a second. “……………remember – the tab”.

And off he goes, like he had said everything that could be said.

It’s silent – so silent now. The wind is whispering. Grease is cooling off on Papyrus’ hands, and snowflakes settle on his shoulders.

 

***

 

The food is not that terrible at all. It is warm, and crunchy, and not really that greasy.

He eats everything, sighs and goes to bed.

He falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.


	9. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are almost done, folks.

On the ninth day, which, by the way, is separated from the eighth day by a whole week, everyone is there for a revelation.

Not right away, though, but don’t relax too much, ok?

Anyway, Papyrus wakes up. He dresses, folding his pajamas and putting them on top of his bed. He checks on Sans – the latter’s HP is sliding down at a sleeping snail’s speed, but aside from that everything looks quite fine. He walks downstairs and eats some oatmeal. The taste makes him lift the corners of his mouth, just a bit, more out of habit than out of pure joy, but it is still progress.

It is still something.

Papyrus walks out of the house and down the street, nodding to accidental bows from passerby bunnies and dogs. A Chilldrake lifts his sunglasses at him in recognition. The frosty air feels like rough paper to his face. He listens to himself and decides that today it is probably a good idea to work on a trap, for a change. It’s not like he has to, since his status as a Guard and a sentry is somewhat compromised, but he _wants_ to. It is a part of his responsibility as a citizen, and also a thing he likes doing, and, after all, no one can work with them but him. Puzzles like these require skill.

When he hears howling and barking in the distance, he walks faster and thanks providence that _this_ is not his responsibility anymore.

It is a very tentative thing, this energy, this balance. Papyrus feels like he is still, well, on edge. But that edge is becoming more and more familiar, and staying on it – and not falling over – is a bit easier every day.

Papyrus wants to think that there will be a day when he will take his first step from that edge. And then a day when he will take a second one. And then a day when he will walk away from it completely, but it is such a distant future, such a vague prospect for him that he doesn’t dare think about it too hard.

He finds the puzzle he kept in mind. He kneels next to it, takes away the protective plate, burrows in wires and feels a little more lightheaded.

Maybe he is taking that first step right now, who knows.

 

***

 

Undyne roars and punches a pillow.

They say that when you are frustrated and angry, punching pillows may help. Because, you know. They are soft and they don’t fight back and also if you punch them through, it’s not a big deal and nothing will go toppling down upon your head (unlike what would happen if you punched a _wall_ through).

(…I wish that last observation was completely theoretical.)

But punching pillows doesn’t feel rewarding. When you fight, it’s one thing! In a fight, punching means winning, being better, being stronger, wiping the smug look off the enemy’s face!

And with a pillow it feels like smacking a very sad sack.

Of course, there are battle dummies too, but Undyne’s own dummy has told her just this morning that no wage raises can stop them from leaving if she disintegrates them once again. And without a ghost inside, a dummy is no fun at all. So. Well.

Undyne sighs, pulls the ripped pillow from her fist and watches the feathers settle down on her bed like snow.

Snow.

Snowdin.

Papyrus.

She growls and shakes her head. That’s the whole reason why she started punching furniture in the first place! (Well, it’s not like she ever needs a reason for that, but this time it was the main source of motivation.) She… well, she did some thinking lately. Which is a bad thing and can lead only to more bad things, because that’s what happens once Undyne decides to follow her head rather than her guts. She has to get her mind off things, and now, her favorite sparring partner being away, she has no alternative…

Oh great, now she cannot stop thinking about Papyrus because Papyrus isn’t around for her to beat up and stop thinking!

Undyne smacks the destroyed pillow one last time and grimly throws away the shreds.

She is still angry at Papyrus. In fact, she is pissed as hell! Because, just when Asgore suddenly grew all detached and sulky and she was very politely turned off several times – just when she started feeling like the ground under her feet was not as solid as she believed it to be - Papyrus decided to play up! He decided to go and threaten some guy in the office _with magic_ , and after that he dusted some civilians, as if he was trying just how much he could get away with! And of course Undyne was left to clean the mess, to bribe the families and blackmail the officials – and do you know what thanks she got for all of her hard work? None! No thanks at all! Yep, that is what you get after you save a guy! And now those dogs do not listen to her, Asgore won’t spar with her, she is over her head in bureaucratic shit, and it’s all Papyrus’ fault!!!

Then again…

She sighs, pinching her nose bridge, and falls on her back. The old mattress bounces under her shoulder blades.

Then again, there are those bone splinters she found when a monster didn’t finish his attack… (By the way, those monsters were super shady, and now it is Asgore’s business – and, after he is done with them, the Royal Judge’s.) It’s not like it was life-or-death situation. That attack wouldn’t kill her without some dumb luck, which she doesn’t believe in anyway, but.

But.

It’s… well, Undyne cannot lie to herself, it is not the first time Papyrus has covered her back. She has known him for, like, two years? Three?.. And during those years they have survived so many ambushes and attacks and murder attempts, they have fought back to back so many times. She never kept count of how many times she saved his ass and how many times he saved hers, but she feels they are quite even on that.

And now… well. Here comes that thing she really doesn’t want to think about, but she still does. Now, that one time when she went out of her way to piss him off because she was so bitter and angry at him for not appreciating her efforts to keep him alive, and he ended up attacking her… she remembers how he looked.

He was mad. Absolutely furious. He got her nailed to a wall, more of a mistake on her part than a victory on his – yet. He got her nailed to a wall. He threw a bullet at her.

And he didn’t hit her.

Undyne knows his control. Hell yeah, once he almost broke his skull in half and was too dizzy to properly stand, and still he managed to hit the bull’s-eye when it was needed. That means it wasn’t a miscast. It wasn’t an accident that a bone aimed at her neck didn’t land where it was supposed to.

It was not an accident.

Honestly, this only makes it worse.

Because she could very much dust him, right then and there, for disobedience and murder attempt, and she would need no other evidence than the scratch on her neck. She had all the right to kill him. But she didn’t. And, if it wasn’t a miscast on his part… then it gives a new light to _her_ actions, too.

Another pillow is picked up. Undyne’s fist connects with its surface with such momentum that the pillow smashes into the wall, leaving a dent in it. Her dummy outside starts creeping away in anticipation.

They say when you are angry, you should punch pillows.

But ah, if only punching pillows could solve your problems!

 

***

 

“So, what did she do?”

“APPARENTLY, PROBLEM-SOLVING IS NOT HER STRONGEST SUIT. SO HER BEST GUESS WAS TO RUN AT THEM, NAKED AND SCREAMING”.

The door snorts in amusement. Sounds like the lady is having fun. Papyrus listens to the sound of her voice, a bit hoarse as if from long disuse.

“And what did _they_ do?”

“WELL, THEY STARTED SCREAMING TOO, BECAUSE THEY ENDED UP IN A FIGHT AND YOU CANNOT EXPECT EXCELLENT FIGHTING SKILLS FROM _TODDLERS_. EXCEPT FOR ME, MY SKILLS WERE RAZOR-SHARP AT ALL TIMES AND AGES! BUT NOWADAYS PEOPLE JUST DO NOT TREAT CHILDREN PROPERLY! HOW CAN YOU RAISE YOUR OFFSPRING WITHOUT SURROUNDING THEM BY DEADLY MAZES? THAT’S WHAT I CALL IRRESPONSIBLE PARENTING”. He huffs. “ANYWAY. THEIR PARENTS QUICKLY JOINED US, OF COURSE. BUT CAPTAIN FORGOT TO WASH OFF THE MARKER AND DRESS UP BEFORE CHASING THEM, SO…”

“It must have been quite a sight”, says the lady with another small laugh.

“INDEED IT WAS. TILL THAT DAY I AM NOT SURE WHETHER THEY FLED BECAUSE THEY WERE THOROUGHLY INTIMIDATED OR BECAUSE THEY WERE OVERLY EMBARRASED”.

They fall into a silence. Weird enough, if not for the door between them, they wouldn’t probably talk in the first place – least of all, talk like _this_. Papyrus would never allow himself to entrust somebody else with that much personal information (even if that personal information belongs to a different person), and the ‘old lady’ wouldn’t probably laugh at all. But this layer of stone and wood and magic gives them protection from one another, like a promise that things shared will not be used at their expense. It is a fragile promise, but it’s enough for this shadow of intimacy they share.

And after all, that lady is actually not so bad.

“Well… how are you doing?” asks the voice tentatively.

Papyrus shivers and feels the ghost of a smile vanish from his face. Personal questions. A true curse. In normal circumstances, giving others more knowledge about yourself is a really bad choice, because, well, possible weaknesses and stuff, and the less is known about you the better. Also personal questions are invasive and make you feel all weird and who even asks them these days, I mean, _really_.

“I AM DOING COMPLETELY FINE, AS EXPECTED FROM SOMEONE AS EXTRAORDINARY AS I AM”.

The door sighs.

“Are you sure?”

“YES”.

It is so quiet you can hear snow falling from far branches.

“…I may not seem a good choice for entrusting with something as fragile as feelings”, the lady says. Papyrus groans and stands up, hoping to avoid the pep talk. “But you don’t have a reason to be suspicious of me. You do not know me. I do not know you. Not your face, nor your strengths, nor weaknesses, nor habits. I am sure we will never meet, and even if we do, there will be no reason for us to fight”.

“THINGS CAN CHANGE. UNPREDICTABLE STUFF HAS A NASTY HABIT TO HAPPEN SOMETIMES”.

“I agree, and still…” For some reason, Papyrus hasn’t left yet. “I do not know how you feel. But you have lost someone, and that is something I have seen often enough to understand that no one should grieve alone”.

Papyrus rolls his eyes.

“I DO NOT GRIEVE. I FEEL _BETTER_ , HONESTLY”.

The lady falls silent, and Papyrus can sense her distrust even from behind the door.

“I have been around for a long, long time”, she says finally. Her voice is clouded with dust of years long gone. “I remember how it used to be. It may seem like a fairy tale for you, my child, but I still remember times of peace and quiet. I remember when monsters were known for their kindness rather than for cruelty and brutal ways. I remember when we turned to each other for comfort in trying times, and treated others the way we wanted to be treated ourselves. And now… It still sometimes strikes me as odd that everything has changed so much”.

Papyrus doesn’t have to be there, to listen to her. There are no orders. There is no danger in leaving. Still, he doesn’t leave. What is more, he sits back down, slumping in the snow.

“Maybe I do seem a bit… outdated”, the lady says in a very calm voice. “But if you ever need comfort, my child, I will provide it”.

“I DO NOT NEED COMFORT. I AM FINE ON MY OWN!!! AND I AM VERY MUCH NOT! A CHILD!!! EVEN THOUGH TECHNICALLY I AM UNDERAGE BUT IT’S ONLY BECAUSE THE PLANK OF SO-CALLED ‘LEGAL AGE’ IS SO UNRESONABLY HIGH”.

During the following pause, the lady is audibly struggling with that new piece of information.

“You are?”

“I AM WHAT?”

“Underage. You are still a child?”

“I PREFER ‘A YOUNG MAN’, BUT YES, DE JURO I HAVEN’T JOINED THE RANKS OF ADULTS YET”.

“Sans never told me…” the lady says thoughtfully. “Um… are you alright there, my child? Do you have anybody to look after you?”

Papyrus groans. “IF YOU SUDDENLY HAVE AN URGE TO BABYSIT ME, YOU DON’T HAVE TO. I CAN MANAGE MYSELF PERFECTLY FINE ON MY OWN, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I WAS ACTUALLY DOING ALL MY LIFE”.

“Are you sure? …Really? But didn’t Sans…”

“YES. AND NO. SANS NEVER DID GREAT AS A GUARDIAN. MOST OF THE TIME HE JUST DID HIS OWN THING AND I DID MINE, NO CONNECTIONS”. Oh. Of course. This talk just had to come to Sans, again. Pretty much like everything.

“I am struggling to believe that, my… dear. He always talked about you proudly. We rarely delved into anything too personal, of course, but you and your success were quite a recurrent theme”.

“…REALLY?”

Papyrus pauses. And then he bursts with laughing. He laughs like there is no tomorrow, but maybe it doesn’t sound all that merry, because, when he is done, the lady’s voice is thick with bafflement.

“I do not understand your reaction, my dear. He really spoke a lot about you”.

“OH. OF COURSE. AND JERRY IS THE MIGHTY AND BELOVED KING OF THE UNDERGROUND”.

“ _Is_ he? …Oh. You meant it as… I still do not understand. Can you indulge me, please?”

“IT’S… I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!!! IT IS SUCH A TERRIBLE JOKE! SANS NEVER CARED FOR ME! HE SIMPLY DESPISED ME, AND _I_ DESPISED _HIM_! WE DIDN’T EVEN TALK PROPERLY FOR YEARS – HE NEVER TAUGHT ME TAXES – NEVER TOLD ABOUT HIS JOB – HE JUST LEFT ME IN THE DARK ABOUT EVERYTHING!!! I NEVER REALLY MATTERED TO HIM, AND ALL HE LEFT ME AS A HEIRITAGE IS PROBLEMS AND HEADACHE!!!”

“Oh, really?” the lady says, and her voice suddenly becomes cold and hard. “Then I deeply regret he is not around right now, because I have quite a few cross words to share with him”. There is a moment’s silence. Then she sighs. “…But, I feel like there was no obvious reason for him to lie to me. Maybe we both are simply missing on his side of the story? Surely there were some reasons for him to act this way”.

“ARE YOU-” Papyrus chokes a little, but that is only because of the cold air, yeah. “ARE YOU SAYING I SHOULD… JUST FORGIVE HIM? JUST FORGET EVERYTHING HE…”

“I was not saying that. You must have a reason to feel that way, too. No, I only meant that probably there was something that urged such a behavior, and perhaps you would be interested in finding it out?”

“NO, I…” He hugs himself. “I AM NOT INTERESTED”.

There must be something in his tone that makes the door fall momentarily silent.

“Oh, well. Do what you believe to be the best. Now”, the old lady says with a surprising lightness, and Papyrus hears her shifting behind the door. “Oh, if I am not mistaken, I think you promised me to tell that story about – ‘plastic and bad life choices’, as far as I remember”.

Papyrus sighs in relief and changes the topic, and the following half of hour is not all that terrible, you know.

 

After the final goodbyes, though, just when he is brushing the last snowflakes from his pants – the lady calls him:

“Papyrus?”

“HM?”

“I have thought… Ah. Wait for me, will you? I will be back in a minute”.

Papyrus is slightly confused, but he agrees. A minute turns out to be ten minutes, and when the lady finally comes back Papyrus is out of his mind with boredom.

“Now, my dear”, she says. “Walk a few steps away from the door, please, and don’t turn around till I say so. I, in my turn, promise not to look or do anything harmful. Remember, we have no reason not to trust each other, right?”

Papyrus feels like it’s a trap. But hey, at this point it hardly even matters! So he does what he is told to. The door rustles and squeaks twice behind him.

“You may turn back now. I am sorry for the inconvenience”.

Papyrus turns around and sees a plate with a single piece of pie sitting in the snow.

Oh.

“Take care of yourself, my dear”, the lady says, and he hears her footsteps fading away in a distance.

He bends down and picks up the pie. It is still warm, and it smells sweet.

He walks up to the door and presses his forehead to it in silent gratitude.

Then he leaves too.

 

***

 

He walks home.

_‘Surely there were some reasons for him to act this way’…_

He grunts and walks faster. Oh, as if two people need _any_ reason to hate each other’s guts! The lady _is_ outdated, even if she is decent in all the other aspects.

Papyrus passes the mailbox. Then he returns, empties it on the ground and grabs all the contents. He enters the house with a pile of papers and with a sense of a fulfilled duty.

The letters are dropped on the table, and he picks the first one when his phone rings. He roars with exhaustion and anger. Oh, of course! Come on, ruin his day! Stomp on his plans! Put all those nails in his untimely coffin!

Surprisingly, the calling number is quite familiar to him.

Papyrus braces himself and picks up the phone.

“ _Sergeant Papyrus_ ”, breathes out the dynamic, “ _what the fuck_ ”.

“UM. EXCUSE ME, CAPTAIN?..”

“Look. How – how the _fuck_ did you manage those dogs?! They do not listen to a single fucking command, they keep barking, and they are just _so_. _Damn_. _Annoying_!..”

“-TRY GIVING THEM BONES. THEY ARE USUALLY CRUNKY WHEN YOU LEAVE THEM WITHOUT A REWARD FOR LONG”.

“What? What the fuck? Where am I supposed to get bones?”

“I ALWAYS GAVE YOU SOME WHEN I VISITED YOU OFF DUTY”.

The dynamic falls silent in realization.

“…Oh. _That_ is what they were for. I may, um. I may have _accidentally_ thrown them into the dump, but I bet there were some left. Ok. Alright. Fine. Captain Undyne, out”.

She hangs up. Papyrus looks at the phone in his hand, shrugs and thinks that it could be worse.

The phone rings again.

“Ok, fine, look, I am a dumbass”, Undyne says before he can even open his mouth.

“…YOU’VE GOT MY ATTENTION”.

“Ugh, do you want me to spell it for you? Fine. I, ugh. I am also a big fat hypocrite. Or, well, a big and thick hypocrite? A hypocrite that is ripped as fuck. A shredded hypocrite with a sixpack that can crush a house and-”

“YOU ARE AVOIDING THE TOPIC”.

 “…yeah, I am. Well, the thing is, remember I told you about not noticing allies? I guess I suffer from this too. I guess I am just as blind as you. Which is not a compliment for you, because, jeez. At least _you_ still have both eyes”.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Um. Well. Look, I... OH SCREW IT, I hate sappy speeches! Ok, the thing is, you are an ungrateful, cocky piece of shit who gives me nothing but trouble. But you are _my_ piece of shit, so I guess I am just stuck with you”.

“STILL NOT SURE WHERE YOU ARE HEADING WITH THIS”.

“Fine, that makes you an ungrateful, cocky _and_ dumb piece of shit. But I want to say that, ugh. You don’t suck _completely_? I mean, in comparison to all other guys around me, you are almost decent! And. Well. You _did_ cover my back a few times. Not that I really needed it covered! But still you did it. So… I will be expecting you as soon as this thing is sorted out. That is your cue to say ‘thank you, dear Captain, for saving my sorry ass’, by the way. You’re welcome”.

Okay. Papyrus has to pinch himself, because this is the nicest thing Undyne has ever told him.

“BUT YOU SAID YOU DIDN’T NEED ME!”

“That was _before_ I tried to manage a dog unit. …And before I got a call from that guy I don’t even know, asking why you are not on duty. I have lots of questions, the biggest being who told that guy his jokes were funny. Like. Geez”.

“BUT YOU TOLD ME I WAS NOTHING SPECIAL… YOU TOLD ME I WAS REPLACEABLE”.

Undyne coughs, and Papyrus imagines her scratching her dead eye – as she always does when she’s feeling uneasy.

“Well… there are different kinds of special, I guess”.

There is a silence, very much alike the silence that they shared with the lady behind the door.

“Well”, Undyne finally says. “That’s all I wanted to know, sergeant”.

“W… WAIT”. Papyrus rubs his temple. “DO YOU HAVE ANY EXPERIENCE WITH PAYING THE BILLS?”

“…Of course. Why?”

“I… HAVE A PROBLEM, AND… SANS WAS ALWAYS THE ONE HANDLING THEM”.

“Oh. Hm. I guess there’s not much I can do, but. Doesn’t hurt to try!” Undyne says optimistically. “How about you’ll drop by tomorrow? And I’ll look what sort of crap you dipped in this time. Also you’ll owe me, like, forever, because I hate paperwork, but that goes without saying”.

“UGH. I ALREADY REGRET ASKING”.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you _do_! FU HU HU!”

When the phone falls silent, Papyrus finds himself smiling a little.

 

***

 

Finally, finally, he gets to sort through Sans’ junk mail.

Surprisingly, most of it is junk mail.

He looks through a letter after a letter. He’s already pretty exhausted, from the talking and walking, but it is a better day (if compared to three days we didn’t cover, when he didn’t even leave the house), so hopefully he will finish this task. Most of the envelopes are tossed aside immediately; a few letters that seem more or less important end up in a thin pile.

Papyrus almost shoves one of the envelopes into the rubbish, but something catches his eyesocket in the last moment. He lifts the letter, squinting in disbelief.

There is a single line on it, written in pencil in that awfully familiar handwriting that ignores all the capital letters and excessive curls.

“to the royal guardsman, sergeant papyrus”.

Papyrus gapes at it for a solid minute. Then he reluctantly opens it.

“heya. so. if you are reading this, i’m dead. or maybe you just decided to burn my mailbox. ha ha. nope. i made sure that this letter makes it in only when i am out of the game. figured this is gonna happen soon. welp. if i did everything right, and i _did_ , it means you are throwing a merry party right now, with striped hats and balloons, screaming ‘down with the loser’ to the cheerful chorus of your friends…”

Papyrus sighs and throws the letter in the rubbish.

But there is another one, a slightly messier one signed “to royal guardsman papyrus”. He picks it up with a cringe and contemplates opening it for a while.

“okay, so maybe i went out of the way in the last letter. heh. in short, where do i start? oh. right. so, there is a nasty tab at grillby’s, and maybe you will have to pay it because, you know, money and i are not an ‘otp’ at all-”

The letter is thrown away.

But there is another one. This time, it is simply a sheet of paper, signed “to papyrus”.

Papyrus crumples it right away, but his eyes still manage to catch the first line.

“look, ok, i know, i keep talking about stuff that doesn’t even matter. like myself. heh. nice one. but you should understand-”

No, he shouldn’t. Away it goes.

Another piece of paper.

“to paps. listen, i know you must have questions. you’ve always had. remember when you kept pestering me about why do objects fall down and not up? guess you were like three or so. followed me everywhere, even to the labs. you always missed the gravity of the situation”.

Childish nicknames and memories won’t do anything here, and they won’t help anyone. Away it goes.

Another one.

“to papyrus. ok. ok. i get it. you don’t need that. fine. you don’t need _me_. also fine. i made sure you didn’t. made sure you could manage on your own, and hey! looks like i did a fine job here!”

No, you didn’t. Away.

“to papyrus. hey, what’s that? what’s with that attitude? don’t you think so?.. well. you think i should have babied you for your whole life? you think i should have wrapped you up and danced over you, ‘aw, my lil bro, you are so cutie-cute, lemme huggie-hug you, nevermind that you will be killed the moment you get out of the house because you don’t have the guts to fight’? yeah? you ungrateful brat. never even questioned at what cost things came to you. never even thought to think about it. about _what i did_ _for you_!-”

Same goes for you. Away.

“to the asshole reading this right now. you listen here!!! you know what, i bet you are all like ‘ _oooooh_ , sans was such a piece of _shit_ to me’, oh well, you know _what_?”

No, and he doesn’t want to know. Away.

“to papyrus. look, i got carried away, ok? i didn’t really mean it, of course-”

Papyrus doesn’t care. Away.

“…papyrus. look. i know i was not the finest person. not even a decent one. at all. more like, a real piece of shit. and the only thing i pride myself on is raising you mean and strong. making sure you are independent. making sure you don’t need me. making sure you don’t need anyone.”

He didn’t ask for that. Away.

“…i know you didn’t ask for that, but try to understand me!-”

No. Away.

“papyrus, you just don’t know how it feels!”

No, he doesn’t and he doesn’t want to know!

“paps, you have no idea how it is, you have no idea what i went through!-”

No, no, no, no, no!!!

“papyrus, just listen!.. i mean, just _read_!-”

_NO!_

(His hands are shaking.)

“paps!-”

Stop it!

“papyrus…-”

Stop, stop, stop!..

“papyrus.-”

Stop…

“Papyrus.”

Papyrus stills, staring at the single word but not really seeing it. His breath is erratic. For once, Sans went through the inconvenience of writing a capital letter. That makes him hesitate.

“heh. i guess i just. keep talking about myself. even though i am writing to _you_. i wrote a damn pile of letters and they all have been about me. i lived a life telling myself it’s all for your sake and still it ended up as _my_ story more than anyone else’s. but it shouldn’t _be_ about me. it should have _never_ been about me. yet it is, all thanks to little old me messing things up as always.  
…even now i still keep talking about myself, huh.  
papyrus. i never was a good guardian. i tried damn hard, but i wasn’t. i looked at father’s mistakes and told myself, ‘this is bad and i will not be like that’, but then i went and made things even worse. and there are lots of things i wish i could change. and i would do anything to go back, to come back and change them, so you could have something better. so _i_ could do a little better.  
…too bad we can’t turn back time.  
ok. nevermind. let’s get down to business. i always knew i will not be a guest in this house for too long. the 1 hp and stuff, you know. not the stats you can meet the old age with. so i made sure you won’t have too many problems when i’m. well. gone. the house is fully yours, and the papers for it are in the basement. everything inside is yours too. left you some money as well. there is a yellow sticky note in the basement with a number and a password to a bank account. hope you won’t need it, but. just in case.   
wish there was a way to know you will really be fine on your own. still did everything i could think of. you have your savings, right? maybe make a deposit. never hurts to have something to fall back to. get a maid, too, should save a lot of time. by the way, there is no need to clean the house every day. and there’s no harm in little grease now and then. and find a job you’ll really like. not just something to get money from, but a job you’ll enjoy doing. ok? i made sure asgore knows you, so if you decide to come anywhere near the palace you will be welcome there. or at least they’ll kick you out extra gently.  
i also made sure you could manage yourself. cook, clean, make money. you were always better at that than me, anyway. so maybe in the end it was the other way around. heh.  
i have no idea what else to say. so, a little advice. most of the time life sucks. and most of the time you will feel like dropping down dead is a damn good option. but spoilers! sometimes you _won’t_. and those sometimes are worth dragging yourself, from one sometime to another. so, i guess. just make sure to drag yourself as far as possible? thaaaaat’s adult life for you. ha ha.  
…you know. there is no day when i don’t wish that i did things different. but i don’t know what else i could do that wouldn’t lead to even worse consequences. and hey! looks like you’ve got the best ending possible! you are still alive! and you are finally free from me! hooray! aren’t you excited?”

Papyrus drops the letter. He didn’t notice reading it till the very end.

There are not many left. Just a few pieces of paper, covered in wrinkles.

“aren’t you happy?”

No.

“…you aren’t, are you.”

…

“papyrus, i. i know i’ve let you down. but it’s too late now. i can’t turn back.”

...

“…i only hope it’s not too late for me to say that, well. you made a fine adult. a better one than i ever was or could hope to be. and. papyrus.”

…what?

“ _i’m sorry._ ”

Oh.

Papyrus stares at that last line.

For so many years, he hoped to hear that. For so many years he waited for those words, unknowingly but greedily. He craved for a single word, a single gesture of care. For a single admittance that he did well.

And now it’s too little, too late.

He puts his face in his palms and sits like this for an eternity. Then, with what is left from his energy, he dumps all the letters into the bin.

He doesn’t need Sans’ apologies. Not like that.

Sans can’t earn his forgiveness now, anyway. No matter how many letters are still hidden somewhere in the house, no matter how much money and favors there are to be lavished upon Papyrus. Because it doesn’t work like this. It never did.

Papyrus doesn’t feel like eating or doing something else. He walks upstairs and goes to bed. Is it even evening? Who cares.

Well, now he knows Sans’ reasons. The catch is, it didn’t help him at all.

Sometimes saying sorry is not enough. Sometimes receiving what you wanted is not enough. Sometimes knowing a person more only hurts you more.

But at least… Papyrus feels like at least he understands it now. Like at least now he knows that it was not his fault at all.

He should feel relieved, but he only feels tired, so he goes to sleep.


	10. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On today's special menu: some long-awaited conclusions, closure and occasional cockiness, with dangerous bonding activities and flower ties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! It is almost over. It sure ended earlier than I thought. The next, and final, chapter will arrive tomorrow. What will happen next? Only time will tell.

On the tenth day it is dark and quiet.

The lights are still off, but there are a few candles and an oil-lamp around the room. The lamp is smelly and smoky, the oil is almost gone, but it is still something. It is still better than complete darkness.

The morning starts just normal.

Papyrus wakes up and walks down the stairs in silence. He doesn’t feel like changing out of his pajamas, so on they stay. He doesn’t pay any attention to the clock, because who cares? There is still some oatmeal left in the far drawer. He nibs on it before deciding that he is not really hungry.

Then he takes the lamp, lights it and walks upstairs once again to check on Sans.

Surprisingly, he does feel better – or, more accurately, he is starting to feel better - now that he knows more about Sans. Sans used to be a complete enigma: someone powerful, someone who held so much control that Papyrus spent most of his life first trying to please him and then scorning him (and those are just the opposite sides of a same coin, to be honest). He used to be a deity who set a course for Papyrus’ life, once and for all. A figure who could not be understood or empathized with.

Now? Now Papyrus sees Sans for what he really was: a guy who made some bad decisions and hurt others. A guy with a terrible sense of humor and even worse sense of responsibility. A guy like everyone else. A guy like Papyrus.

The stairs creak under his feet. The door to Sans’ room creaks as well, in the most creepy way; maybe it is an intentional feature. The dim yellow light from the lamp spreads over the empty room and falls on the lifeless skeleton on the mattress.

He is still not dust.

Papyrus kneels in front of him and sets down the lamp. He runs a check. 1 ATK, 1 DF, 1 HP. Now Sans has just as much HOPE as he had all his life, before things went down. A full circle, and they are back at the beginning. He is looming over his brother, waiting for him to wake up, just like he was at the very first day.

How ironic.

Papyrus sighs and reaches out. His fingers hover just above Sans’ palm, and for a moment he steals a cautious glance at the other’s face, momentarily twitching in anticipation. But Sans doesn’t move, and Papyrus finally takes his hand.

If he did it a few years ago, he would probably be slapped or told to move away. If he did it a month ago, he would probably get a long confused stare. But now he is free to hold it. Funny how sometimes you get things only after you no longer want them.

Papyrus pulls on that hand, watching Sans’ face for reaction. There is none. He pinches it a little, then pulls harder. Nothing, still.

He gives up, toying with Sans’ hand in silence.

It is still a little creepy, but the lamp gives the room a cozy glow, so it’s not completely bad. More like a picture from a scary children’s book that sends shivers along your spine but doesn’t give you any nightmares.

It is not that bad.

It almost feels like home.

It almost feels like childhood.

Led by a sudden sharp _need_ inside him, Papyrus grabs Sans’ hand and presses it to the top of his head.

He freezes immediately, because it sends him rolling in emotions: confusion, embarrassment, panic, anger at himself, anger at everyone else, sorrow, sadness, grief, contentment, happiness. They crush into him like an avalanche and he has no chance to stand against it, and for once – maybe for the first time in his life – he doesn’t even try to fight it back.

There is a natural disaster inside him, there is chaos all around him, and he knows only that he knows nothing. All his rules are broken. But maybe…

Still holding Sans’ hand, he pulls it down, making it slowly travel down his skull like – like a stroke. Like it is just a little brotherly pat on his head.

Maybe it really isn’t too bad.

He crumbles on the floor and he starts bawling, and he is embarrassed – confused – he hates himself falling apart like this – but he still _sobs_ , inconsolably and endlessly, he sobs like he hadn’t sobbed for years and years. He cries for all the good times they had, and he cries for all the bad times they had too, and he cries for everything they didn’t have despite really, really trying. He cries for being happy and for being hurt and for love and hate that somehow can exist together. He cries for everything he misses, everything he never thought he would remember but still does: the bedtime stories, and the toy animals, and the clothes they used to ‘renovate’ by stitching silly titles on them, and the gadgets they found in the damp and tried to repair – and the way Sans _beamed_ at him when Papyrus managed to make one of them work.

He cries for the fact that, despite everything, he still _cares_ for Sans.

At some point the tears stop, and then the dry sobs die down as well. He is left lying on the floor, absolutely drained and feeling like an unlucky skier that has just got a few tons of snow rolling over him. But he feels better. Easier.

Freer?

Okay, he says to himself. Okay. There was a disaster. So that is how it is. Now he has to stand up and to learn how to deal with its aftermath.

And maybe that isn’t really good, but it isn’t completely bad, either.

 

***

 

He remembers that Undyne is waiting for him. He puts on some civil clothes and drags himself to the River Person’s boat. Thankfully, they are already at the bank, watching him from under their hood. While on his way, he fidgets with the folder in his hands. He doesn’t expect Undyne to help him much, but she is the only person he can somewhat trust – his only… _friend_?

That sounds weird even as a thought so he dismisses it at once.

The journey to Undyne’s house is a quick one. Very soon he is standing at her door, listening to the aggressive piano sounds from inside.

Papyrus knocks on the door twice. “UNDYNE?”

The music cuts off immediately. There is a sound of hurried footsteps, and the door slides open, revealing an excited fish standing at the doorpost.

“Hey, what’s up, punk? You really kept… me… waiting…”

She trails off, looking him all over, and Papyrus looks down as well to see what is so wrong with his appearance.

“Why. Don’t. You. Come. Inside”, Undyne suddenly growls, dragging him in.

He complies, a little surprised.

Nothing has changed inside Undyne’s house. There is a pile of human weapons, everything from swords to guns; a battered-up piano; a stove and a couple of counters that look like a deserted battlefield. There is also a torn pillow in the corner, for some reason.

“Ok”, Undyne says, pinching her nose bridge. “What’s wrong? Somebody’s giving you trouble? If so, I know a couple of ways to make a guy regret their actions without leaving any evidence. No one messes with my people but me”.

“NOTHING IS WRONG. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?”

Undyne waves at him. “ _This_ ”.

“WHAT _EXACTLY_?”

“Uuuugh”. She slaps her cheeks, staring at him grimly. “When did you last sleep?”

Oh. That was unexpected.

“UM. TODAY?”

“Ok. Next question, when did you last _eat_?”

“T…TODAY?” Papyrus guesses. He gets another glare and yields. “HONESTLY, I AM NOT SURE”.

“ _Are you trying to get yourself dusted on me?!_ ” Undyne hisses, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake.

“NO?”

Papyrus is roughly released. He rubs his sour shoulders, watching Undyne rush off. The aforementioned Undyne knocks off the cups from the counter, kicks down a toaster and throws a cutting board in front of herself with a bang.

“UM. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“ _Oh my Asgore_ ”, she says, as if not hearing him. “How _dumb_ a monster can be. What did I do to deserve such a shitpile on my shoulders? Did I spend my previous life kicking lost puppies or something? Why. Why do I have to deal with this. I never asked for it. Why is everyone around me a fucking walking ton of problems”.

“CAPTAIN UNDYNE?..”

“I am trying to save you – _again_ ”, she growls, throwing her fridge door open. “And get some food inside you. OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” She throws her hands up. “Why do I even bother?! Why do I even waste my precious time on your stupid, pathetic pile of bones?!”

“MAYBE IT’S JUST MY IRRESISTIBLE CHARM”, Papyrus suggests.

Undyne studies him and then looks up at the ceiling, as if asking it to spare her from this nightmare. And throws another drawer open.

Papyrus looks around, not sure what he should do. Finally he pulls himself a chair. He has no chance to sit down, though, because suddenly he hears a loud _thud_ , turns around and sees exactly _what_ Undyne is doing.

“EX- _CUSE ME_?!?!”

In a blink, he dashes towards her and catches her fist in midair before she can smack the carrot again.

“Whoa-”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE _DOING_?!”

Undyne squints at him in confusion and shrugs. “Soup?..”

“YOU ARE COMMITING AN _ATROCITY_ ”, Papyrus breathes out, holding her by the shoulders and staring her down. “YOU ARE VIOLATING THE PERFECTLY FINE INGREDIENTS. YOU’VE MURDERED THEM. _MURDERED_ ”.

“I didn’t? That’s how you are supposed to cook?”

“ _NO_ ”. Papyrus tears the remains of the carrot out from Undyne’s hands, searches through her silverware and shoves a knife to her. “I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR SAVAGE WAYS IN THE KITCHEN. IT IS A TEMPLE OF CULTURE! A _SACRED PLACE_! AND YOU ARE DESECRATING IT! AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO DESECRATE IT FOULER!” He smacks the carrot on the cutting board, takes a knife himself and starts cutting it in small, measured movements. “THAT IS HOW IT IS DONE! CONTROL! STYLE! PRECISENESS!”

“Preciseness is for nerds!” Undyne argues. There is an evil gleam in her eye. “What you are saying is nothing but bullshit! Kitchen is a _battlefield_ ”. She snatches another carrot and smothers it. The juice trickles down her hand like orange blood. “It is a canvas for your _passion_! A dance floor for your _fury_!..”

“NONSENSE! EVEN ON THE BATTLEFIELD YOU NEED CONTROL MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE!”

“All you need on a battlefield is _bullets_ ”.

“AAARGH! GIVE ME THE KNIFE! YOU HEADLESS MORON!”

“ _NEVER_ ”.

“STOP IT – NO! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN… NO! I SAID, NO! BAD UNDYNE! PUT IT BACK DOWN _THIS INSTANT_ OR _SO HELP ME_!”

“Try and make me!” Undyne roars, holding Papyrus in a headlock and managing to smash a potato with her elbow at the same time.

 

(…Can I just cut forward, please? Too late to keep it family-friendly, but I want to avoid the needless violence.

Yes? Ok.)

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, they finally calm down. By some unearthly means (or maybe by some healthy nagging), Papyrus has managed to achieve impossible: he’s put an apron on Undyne. He even made her agree to some of his ‘refined’ ways. And now they stand in silence, cutting the soup ingredients, side by side: Undyne to the left, Papyrus to the right. There are no sounds, save for the dry rattle of the knives.

A clock strikes four times somewhere behind the wall.

Undyne stops cutting for a moment and gives Papyrus’ hands a sideways glance.

"Hey. You are, um. Actually not that bad at this".

Papyrus shrugs without pausing his knife’s movements. "BLAME THAT ON YEARS AND YEARS OF PRACTICE. I COULD NEVER REALLY RELY ON SANS TO COOK FOR US, AND WHEN I GOT TIRED OF ALL THE FOOD POISONINGS HE GAVE ME..."

The Captain stares at the tomato in her hands with an indescribable emotion.

"-wow, I can tell you have to do your best to give somebody a _magic food poisoning_ ".

"...HE WAS A NATURAL. THE BEST MEAL HE EVER FED ME WAS FRIED EGGS."

"Well, that doesn’t sound too bad".

"...WHICH WERE SUPPOSED TO BE _BOILED_ EGGS BEFORE HE FORGOT ABOUT THEM AND FELL ASLEEP".

Undyne snorts and stabs the tomato.

"Holy shit! Well, my sibling used to be the same..." She rubs her dead eye absentmindedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Papyrus turn to her in surprise. "...yeah, I had a sis once, we were a year apart, me and Nym. She was really hot-headed... well, we both were, because we were teeny weeny fishes back then, and we had teeth that were too big for either of us. And also _spears_ that were too big for either of us. I mean, like, two times our size".

Papyrus struggles to imagine it. All he can think of is a pair of devilish shadows with teeth the size of pizza slices, snickering in the darkness.

"...I GUESS THE REASON WHY WATERFALL IS STILL INHABITED IS BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T TRY HARD ENOUGH".

"Ha, you’re getting the idea! But we still _tried_ , we picked all the battles we could, and sometimes the battles we couldn’t, too. Anyway, I remember when Nym got an idea that you can spare your efforts and instead of fishing and _then_ cooking, just boil the fish in the river".

"...WOW. SOMEHOW I AM NOT SURPRISED".

"Well, it _worked_! Looks like you can do anything if you are dedicated enough! And if you can summon enough spears. Nym had an awesome scar left from that day, when she slipped into the water while it was still hot. The scales on her foot never fully grew back. She always told everyone she received it when Aaron almost bit her legs off, but _I_ knew the truth. …She always rushed in before looking twice. We both did. I guess that’s just how you get scars".

Undyne falls silent, smiling, and her smile doesn’t look like a sneer, not at all. She rubs the place where her eye used to be. Yeah. So many things can be lost just because you are a silly little kid who loves to fight and hates to think before acting.

Papyrus glances at her and quickly looks down, at the knife in his hands. He feels like there is more going on than he sees, that there is some hint he can’t take. That maybe he didn’t hear something Undyne wanted him to hear.

He fidgets nervously for a couple of seconds. Then he points to a triangle dent on his shoulder.

"WELL. YOU KNOW HOW I RECEIVED THAT?"

Undyne shakes her head, visibly dragging herself back to reality.

"Huh? No, I don’t. Looks badass, though".

"ONE DAY, SANS WAS TRYING TO NAIL A SHELF TO A WALL. DESPITE HIS ASSURANCES THAT IT WAS NAILED PERFECTLY WELL, I WAS CRITICAL OF HIS WORK. HE GOT ANGRY AND STOMPED HARD, AND THEN THE SHELF FELL DOWN AND HIT ME".

The fish warrior pauses for a second and then - then she guffaws like that’s the best joke she’s ever heard, and Papyrus feels a little warm _something_ inside, something that is telling him that maybe this time he’s got the hint.

"Wait", says Undyne with suspicion when she’s done laughing her ass off. "Are _all_ those left by some unruly furniture? Because, man. That really steals all the badassness".

"NO, MOST OF THEM ARE FROM BATTLES. THOUGH... THERE IS ONE SCAR IN A PLACE I AM _NOT_ SHOWING YOU ANY TIME SOON, FROM WHEN SANS WAS TRYING TO REPAIR THE SOFA. HE TOOK OFF THE PILLOW, TURNED IT UPSIDE DOWN WITH THE NAILS STICKING UP, AND THEN FORGOT TO TURN IT OVER, AND..."

Undyne roars with laughter and smacks the counter strong enough to knock it down.

Papyrus laughs as well.

 

***

 

After Undyne is done feeding Papyrus the result of their shared efforts, they both sit down and look through the papers. Undyne doesn’t find anything that can be used to their advantage, but she says she knows a guy who knows how to deal with such stuff, so there is a chance. It’s already more then what Papyrus hoped for, so he is pretty glad.

He says his thanks and goodbyes and walks out. Before he leaves, though, Undyne’s hand grabs his elbow.

“Look”, she says, looking at him intently from the doorway. “Once I had to attend a funeral – it was some Guardsman you don’t know – normally I wouldn’t have to, but his auntie is a big fish, so. I wanted to go in armor but they said it had to be formal. And apparently a pair of yoga pants didn’t satisfy them as well. Put on a dress, they said. And I said, I don’t even _have_ one, the best I can offer is a leather skirt that is like – _this_ long. Because I was still hoping I could ditch this whole business, you know. And they said, fine, we will buy you a dress if you don’t have one. So now I have a funeral dress”.

“…WHERE ARE YOU HEADING WITH THIS?”

“It’s just, that dress is _so ugly_ ”, Undyne tells him. “All lace and bows and glitter. It looks like an unwanted late child of a wedding cake and a piano case. And I hate it. Oh _god_ , I hate it. And if I will have to put it on for _your_ funeral, trust me I will be _pissed_. I will drag your sorry ass all the way back from hell and revive you only to kill you again myself, and I will have Alphys put your head in a jar and I will put that jar on fire and slam it into the abyss, _that’s_ how pissed I will be. So don’t give me a reason to put it on. You got me?”

Papyrus stares at her. A small spot of warmth is unwrapping inside his soul.

“I… I THINK I DO”. He considers her for a moment. “UM. I HAVE – I HAVE A TIE. FROM LONG AGO. IT IS BLUE WITH ORANGE FLOWERS ALL OVER IT. NEVER WORE IT ONCE, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS, BUT I THINK THAT FROM NOW ON IT WILL BE MY FUNERAL TIE. AND… DON’T MAKE ME PUT IT ON AS WELL”.

Undyne’s grin grows just a little bit softer.

“Aww, come on. You sappy nerd. Leave already, before I shove your head up your ass!”

Papyrus knows that’s not an empty threat, so he hurries away.

 

***

 

Alphys sighs for the 100th time today. Wowie. Should we bake her an anniversary cake?

The truth is that, maybe, _maybe_ , with some stretch and a lot of reservations, possibly, probably, theoretically, she is sad and cannot do anything about that.

Sadness is one of the most dangerous feelings for a monster. It makes you seem vulnerable. It takes a lot of your time and energy. And, in Alphys’ case, it makes living through another day just a little bit harder.

She administers the injections, performs a massive check-up and feeds the subjects. When walking down the aisle, she wonders what the monsters would think about their relatives and colleagues being turned, instead of super soldiers as was promised, into semi-sentient walking puddles.

She also wonders what those monsters would think if another Royal Scientist disappeared one day without a trace.

It is not a good thought, but it is just a _thought_ , not a plan or anything, so she allows herself to toy with it for a little while. It makes her feel a little stronger, this way. She has everything under control. Her emotions. Her actions. Her life. Her death.

Before returning to the lab above, Alphys visits the small room with a yellow photo in a locked drawer. She looks at it and sighs for the 101st time this day.

She is in control, of course. This sadness is a familiar sadness. This loneliness is an often guest. She knows them too well. And she allows them to stay, because she never managed to make them leave before.

The truth is, there are no living beings left who would tolerate her presence.

She is actually a bit surprised she’s made it this far. Sometimes thoughts became a little more like plans to her, and she spent hours thinking about the details. Sometimes plans became a little more like reality, and she found herself half-way in – but there was always something wrong in the last second, someone saw her or she got a call or she remembered there was a new unwatched series lying in her desk, and she shrugged and walked off, and later she told herself that she wasn’t really serious about it. It was just a thought. She was just playing, testing her self-control. Death is such a fascinatingly abominable event, always so unexpected despite how often you see it. And people are always pulled to things that scare and repulse them. So, is it that weird?

(Yes, it is.)

The truth is, the only other person who she thought (she guessed) felt that way now cannot share his thoughts on the experience.

Her phone buzzes suddenly, and she looks down on the screen to see that somebody is calling her. The signal is too weak here, so she rushes to get to the upper lab. Her claws drum some catchy rhythm on the steel elevator walls.

Only after stepping out the elevator she notices that she’s still holding the photo.

Alphys squints and quickly throws it on her table, blank side up.

The call can finally come in. It’s Undyne. Alphys listens to the ringing for five minutes in hopes that Captain will finally get bored of it and send her a message instead. Of course she doesn’t, so Alphys takes a deep breath, props herself and takes the phone.

“Sup, nerd? … Captain Undyne speaking, just in case. So, I need you to make a thing for me”.

“Good afternoon. I am m-most delighted to tell you that your s-spear is almost finished. There are only a few minor adjustments l-left for us to make, considering the s-stability and energy distribution…”

“Nah, leave that science junk to somebody else, I don’t care _how_ it works if it _works_. That’s good news, actually, but I was calling for a different reason. Can you - oh how to put it – can you recreate other monsters’ bullet patterns?”

“…Hm. Theoretically, yes, it may b-be possible. But, um. May I, may I inquire why would one possibly ask of such a thing? I also would have to know the exact pattern you need in order to answer your question most truthfully”.

“Well, the first part, I need them for a whole lot of reasons. It’s like to ask why ice cream is made… by the way, I have no idea where that vendor went, did you maybe- Oh, nevermind, that’s not what I was talking about. Ok, the second thing is, I need _bones_. You’d probably wonder why, and it’s quite a story, let me say…”

Alphys shivers and her eyes involuntarily slide to the trash bin from which a lone yellow bone sticks out. Undyne’s words become distant and washed over.

The only other person she knew who seemed more attracted than repulsed by death was Sans. That could be a part of his profession – a gained skill, of course. But he knew – they both knew just how fragile he was; and fragile things don’t last long in the Underground.

Can it be that Sans always knew that he was going to die much sooner than everyone else? Can it be that his constant unbearable jokes about death and suffering were actually a way to cope with it? Maybe he just became so numbed to the idea that it turned funny. Or maybe he _was_ , in fact, afraid, and those jokes were a cover for that constant fear, an attempt to accept the reality.

…Or maybe he simply liked messing with everyone.

“-and then of course those canines started looking for trouble – and finding it, yeah, one of them tried to bite my ass when I was looking the other way – _so_ , Papyrus told me you need bones to distract them, but I can’t make them naturally, and I thought that maybe you…”

Alphys wonders what it would be like, to live knowing that you will die so unexpectedly. To live knowing that the end may come so soon, tomorrow, today, right now. To wake up and go to sleep with that knowledge, to go through your every day feeling your mortality, to make peace with the thought that you have absolutely no guarantee to survive another day.

…Or.  
Maybe she already knows it all.

“Of course it is not particularly relevant, but that spear thing kept me thinking. You know the trident Asgore summons? And you know how it changes color, right? Do you think rainbow spears can be made of the same magic that I…”

Alphys feels herself growing stiff and tense. The phone is clutched in her claws, and Undyne’s voice is but a distant quiet murmur.

You know what? She _knows_ how it is. She knows how it feels when you have no guarantees to survive another day. She has known it for too long. And also she knows what desperation feels like, looks like, sounds like. She knows loneliness. She knows depression. She knows guilt.

She saw them not only in herself, but also in that other regular down in the Labs, the one who came to keep her company, the one who fed the subjects and played with the dogs and left that bone. She saw them in _Sans_.

And maybe… maybe she doesn’t want to end like he did. To give up and take the easy way out. She is still grieving, still depressed, and life will not become better for her all of a sudden. But maybe she _wants_ to survive another day, now. Maybe she wants to find a good reason to.

 “…And okay, I guess I have been ranting long enough, so, in short, I need something like a dog treat, only summonable, and I need a weapon that can use different types of magic, like, orange AND blue. Those two are really important, but you shouldn’t overlook the practical value of an ice cream machine as well…”

“Undyne?”

There is a pause in the dynamic. “What?”

“I wanted to tell you something”.

Undyne stays silent for a while.

“And what was it?”

_‘I love you’_ is what Alphys wants to say, but she doesn’t, because of rules and common sense and a thousand other reasons. And those reasons are screaming at her that she is about to do something inexcusably stupid, and telling her to back off, to laugh it off, to say something neutral and science-like, to gain back control…

“I found some interesting videos f-from the Surface”.

“…videos like what?”

“Oh, I am m-mostly sure they are meant for entertainment purely. I doubt there is a way for humans to fly or wield weapons ten times their size…” She trails off, staring at the giant spear at her table. “Actually, nevermind, maybe they have a way to do that last part. B-but, they do have some interesting ideas and techniques that one m-may take up, and it is an invaluable source of information about their traditions, customs and culture”.

“So you are saying…” Undyne says in a flat tone. Alphys squints.   
_That you want me to watch childish cartoons with you?_   
_That I would want to meet you, you freak?!_   
_That this is what you spend time and money on? Useless_.

“You are saying that you have found such a _treasure_ and you didn’t tell me yet?! Unbelievable!!!”

Alphys lets out a breath.

“I am terribly sorry. I didn’t think they would be of any use for you”.

“And they have made you a Royal Scientist? Weird. I thought nerds were supposed to be _smart_ ”, Undyne says with an audible grin. “ _Of course_ they are! Listen, you do have that bigass screen at your place, right?”

“Yes???” Alphys says, slightly overwhelmed.

“Awesome! I will drop by later, I think, and you’d better be prepared to show me everything you’ve got!” Alphys is sure Undyne didn’t mean it the way she understood it, but she still feels her cheeks burn. “That will surely help us prepare for the future war!”

“Yes. This is… exactly my intention. However, this is all I wanted to tell you. I will not bother you any longer”.

“Oh, fine. Bye, nerd! And see you later, I guess. Captain Undyne, out”.

Alphys turns off the screen and places the phone on the table, very gently.

All her common sense, all her experience and the lessons she learnt – they all scream at her that she is making a mistake. That she shouldn’t get close to anyone. That she shouldn’t let her true thoughts and feelings show, that she is better off alone, that she should crawl back into her shell of self-control and build back the walls and wrap herself in barbed wire…

And you know what? To hell with those lessons.

Alphys snatches the old photo and pins it over her table. She stares at it, as if studying. Then she throws her head back and allows herself the first sincere grin in years, and, though it is a bit shaky, it feels great.

 

***

 

“AHEM. WHY IS DARK HUMOR LIKE SUFFICIENT NUTRIRION? BECAUSE NOT EVERYONE GETS IT!”

The little flame in the lamp is flickering. Papyrus squints at the page, trying to make out the words. He is sitting cross-legged, leaning on Sans’ mattress, and tries to read a book he found behind the sofa. It is a badly injured copy of “Dark, Darker, The Darkest: Best Jokes for Those Who Love It Worst” that somehow has a book on quantum science stuffed inside it, but some words are still recognizable.

“OK! ANOTHER ONE COMING. ‘ADULT ASRIEL WALKS INTO THE BAR. …JUST KIDDING!’ …WOW. I GUESS THAT’S THE NEW LOW. I MEAN. WOW”.

Sans doesn’t react, and Papyrus nods to himself: yeah, that joke really isn’t worth coming back from dead.

“HM. ‘WHEN I DIE, I WANT TO BE SHOT OUT OF CANNON… AND INTO A CHILDREN’S BIRTHDAY PARTY’. …SOMEHOW I SEE THAT HAPPENING. I GUESS YOU COULD RELATE A LOT. ‘WHAT HAS FOUR LEGS AND ONE ARM? A GREATER DOG IN THE PLAYGROUND’. WELL, THAT ONE IS TERRIBLE. DOGGO IS ACTUALLY MUCH LESS BEHAVED, BUT I GUESS THAT’S GOSSIP FOR YOU. WHERE WAS IT PRINTED, ONCE AGAIN? HOTLAND? THAT EXPLAINS A LOT”.

He struggles to flip the page. The paper sheets are stuck together, and in the end he simply turns them over together.

“OK, MOVING ON. ‘WHERE DO YOU FIND A GUY WITH NO LEGS? RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT HIM.’ YOU KNOW WHAT? THAT’S IT. THAT’S MY LEAST FAVOURITE JOKE SO FAR. I FOUND IT. IT DOESN’T EVEN TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION MERMAIDS, MOLDSMALLS AND GUYS WITH REALLY STRONG HANDS! ASIDE FROM BEING SIMPLY GENERALLY DISGUSTING”.

He puts the book aside, stretches and yawns.

Suddenly, the corners of his mouth rise just a bit.

“KNOCK KNOCK”.

Nobody answers, but he still waits for a couple of seconds.

“KNOCK KNOCK… HEY! DON’T KEEP SILENT”.

The lamp is growing dimmer.

“YOU KNOW, I CANNOT GET THROUGH THIS JOKE WITHOUT YOUR HELP. COME ON. YOU MUST SAY ‘WHO’S THERE?’ GO NOW. SAY IT. IT’S REALLY EASY, EVEN FOR A LAZY ASS LIKE YOU. I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT. GO ON”.

Nobody answers, but he doesn’t feel overly disappointed.

“OKAY, I WILL DO ALL THE HARD WORK FOR YOU AGAIN, BUT JUST THIS ONCE. KNOCK KNOCK. ‘WHO’S THERE?’ ANT. ‘ANT WHO?’

“ _ANT_ YOU A HUGE PAIN IN MY NONEXISTENT ASS. HA HA... WHY AREN’T YOU LAUGHING? IT’S A VERY FUNNY JOKE… MY BEST ONE EVER… HEH… YOU… YoU… yoU sHOulD lAugh… I… I thought you would really like this one”.

He waits for a minute and – in a sudden urge he moves closer and just swoops Sans in his arms, wrapping him in a sheet. After this he feels stupid, but at the same time… this way it feels like Sans has only fallen _asleep_.

It feels a bit like those far away years when it was Sans who cradled Papyrus like this. When he rocked him slowly and hummed a little, to ward the bad dreams and thoughts and memories off. It is only natural that it is Papyrus’ turn now. Too little too late is still more than nothing at all.

“C…comfy?”

He sits like that for some time; he doesn’t know for how long.

“I… I wish I knew what you really like”, he says finally. “I wish I knew what you would like your dust to be spread on. I will have to make a guess now… I suppose you’ll have to bear with my decision”.

It is warm and pleasantly dark; it smells of wax and cotton. Sans is breathing quietly in his arms.

 “…b-brother”. It suddenly slips from his tongue, and he jerks in some kind of weird horror, as if he has just betrayed a deep dark secret. But then: “Brother”, - and it comes slightly more naturally. “B-bro, I…”

He needs a moment. He takes Sans’ hand in his again. Click clack. The bones sound like the smallest clocks, measuring the time left for the two of them. Click clack. _Tick tock_.

“I am here”, he says at last.

He pulls Sans closer, unconsciously.

“I am here”.

Click clack. Sans’ stats twitch again. Papyrus clenches him and squeezes his eyesockets shut, but, when he summons up the spirit to check him, the numbers stay the same. He feels a small relief. Oh, thank stars. At least not now. Maybe very soon, maybe even today, but not now. Already a blessing.

He clutches Sans’ hand again, stronger than before. Click clack, go their bones.

“I… I am here, and I won’t go anywhere, I promise. I will just… stay around. No matter what. When you die, or when you get up”, he says. “It’s not… it’s not like I forgave you. It is not like I forgave anything. I am not sure if I ever will. But. I am here”.

Click clack.

 “I am here, I …”

Click clack, says the time indifferently.

“…I will stay here, I …”

…

“…I will… I…”

Click clack, goes the time.

_“Sans_ …”

…

_“…brother… I…”_

…

“… _I will be here_ …”

…

“ _I_    _p_ r _o_ m _i_ s _e_ …”

 

The flame flickers for the last time and ceases to be in a last sizzling spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to hear your thought about this!


	11. Day 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, it is over.

On the eleventh day Papyrus wakes up on the floor near his brother’s bed, still holding on to his hand.

It is dark, and it smells like oil; like something that is old and new at the same time.

He raises his head, blinking like a confused owl; then leans on the mattress and starts drifting away to sleep again.

 

 

***

 

 

On the eleventh day Snowdrake reads aloud a list of puns he has prepared. Judging by his latest experiences, his new favorite listener likes puns with complicated set-ups, and he does his best to meet his choices.

He scribbles on the paper violently. Sans’ former sentry station (where Snowdrake currently resides) still smells like mustard and burnt food, and it is weirdly comforting.

Snowdrake looks around and mumbles: “ _wirepuller_ , out of anything…” And giggles.

Maybe he will manage to make this station lively again.

 

 

***

 

 

On the eleventh day Undyne tastes the leftovers of their soup and shakes her head in disbelief. Wowie! She never thought home-cooked food could taste that _edible_!

The pillows are intact, and the dummy enjoys a break. Her thoughts are really quiet. They flow like a river, slow and calm, and pretty content with themselves.

Undyne glances at the phone, thinking about humans and swords and scientists, and the river of her thoughts babbles with excitement. She smiles, and it’s the softest, warmest smile that has ever touched her lips.

Maybe she has finally found someone to fight along with.

 

 

***

 

 

On the eleventh day Alphys plays fetch with the dog, sighing a little because it is too repetitive for her liking. Then she sorts through the pile of anime for the tenth time. Everything should be perfect when Undyne comes! The color scheme, the plot, the characters, the love story… – oh no, the _love story_ \- oh god, what if she thinks it is an offer?! – what if she thinks Alphys is too _clingy_? – too _needy_? – too _suggestive_? – too _shy_? – too…

The dog’s head bumps into her knees, distracting her. When she breaks out of her thoughts – with a small gasp – the dog leans into her, producing a low sound that weirdly resembles purring. Alphys pets it and takes a deep breath.

The photo above her desk shines three smiles at her.

 

 

***

 

 

On the eleventh day the lady from behind the door bakes two pies.

 

 

***

 

On the eleventh day the King waters his flowers, just as always. His head is still hung lower than usual, his brow wrinkled with a heavy, restless thought.

He thinks about the nearest and dearest he has lost. There were so many. Some succumbed to old age, some perished from hunger or an illness or got caught between gangs fighting for power, some left him on their own, some were taken away, some died on his hands, and some expired far, far away where he could not even see them. If he planted a flower on every grave, all the Underground would be a garden.

He bends down and picks a tiny blossom, blue and lively and fresh.

Then the King straightens up and calls out. He has to make sure that, if Undyne decides to come, she will be taken straight to him. And everything will be as usual from now on – or maybe better. He already missed so many chances to spar, to talk, to watch her grow. He may have lost a lot; he does not want to sacrifice anyone else.

…The blue flower makes fine tea.

 

***

 

On the eleventh day Grillby hums to himself, wiping a glass clean, and wonders if the tab will ever be paid.

 

 

***

 

On the eleventh day something is lost, something is gained, something is repaired and something is broken. In other words, it is just another day.

 

 

***

 

On the eleventh day, life goes on.

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the eleventh day, Sans opens his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. There are a few things I wanted to say.
> 
> First, thank you to everyone who followed me through that journey. It was not as much of a pomp as I secretly dreamed of, haha. But all of you who commented and was so kind and supportive - you all managed to make me smile so many times.
> 
> Second, it was a huge project for me, especially since English is not my first language, and it kept me slightly intimidated for a long time. But I think I did it. Eleven Days doesn't look like I thought it would, but it only means it looks better. So I am kinda proud of myself, to be honest.
> 
> Third, I will be completely honest with you. At first it was all about an abusive asshole Papyrus who only learns to love his brother only after he's been on the brink of death. But then all the characters shaped up and rose and breathed, and suddenly everything was not so simple anymore. I guess writing this story became for me a way of coping, a way of putting my thoughts and experiences into something tangible. Because I relate to Papyrus a lot, I have been on his end of the rope and I know how it feels, I know how it is when you become angry and bitter and aggressive after what was done to you. I am still there, even if it is not as troubling as in Papyrus' case. But at some point you have to forgive and move on, for your own sake. That is what Papyrus is doing: he is moving on from that. There is still such a great uncertainty, and they both will have to work a lot in order to repair their relationship. But he is moving on.  
> And I feel like maybe there is hope for everyone here.
> 
> Also wait for a bonus tiny chapter.


	12. Day XX

...And this is how it should end.

And this is how it ends.

The path is cut. The future is unclear. Yet there is hope, and there is love, and there is life.

Everyone has learnt something. Everyone has grown.

Perhaps.

Even you did.

Satisfying, isn't it?

 

...Or maybe it is not.

Just think of it.

There are so many loose ends left.

There are so many stories untold.

There are so many voices you could never hear because they never sounded.

You have seen the middle.

But.

The beginning and the end are still covered in darkness.

Will you dare disturbing it?

 

**Yes?**

 

Then it is agreed.

I knew you would answer this.

Somebody like you would never pass an opportunity to learn more.

Even if it meant going through the laundry, and the thoughts, and the farthest corners of the souls.

That power. That force behind your decisions.

That curiousity.

It is so strong even I can feel it.

I do not blame you.

Mind you, I am just the same. That is why I told you that story.

...Partially.

The other reason is boredom.

There is not much I can do like this.

 

What? Will I demand your soul?

No.

No one is above consequences. But not all the consequences are bad.

I only ask for attention.

 

Your journey is not over yet.

There will be another track. Another path to take.

Maybe even two.

You will be able to go back.

Or you could chose to move forward.

But.

Whatever you choose, I will be there to start a new story.

 

Whatever you choose,

I will be the first to say

" _Greetings_ ".

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. That was NarraChara, in fact. The story was actually told by a very bored undead meta child.
> 
> Gonna add it to the tags.


End file.
